


A Fair Distance. Comes a Time.

by laurie_ky



Series: A Fair Distance [10]
Category: The Sentinel
Genre: Angst, Blair Sandburg: Shaman, Bonding, Established Relationship, Ghosts, M/M, Other original characters - Freeform, Post Series, Post canon, Romance, Sentinel Senses, Series, Shamanism, Suicide, Supernatural - Freeform, sentinel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-07-18
Updated: 2013-08-30
Packaged: 2017-10-21 12:43:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 17
Words: 101,279
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/225288
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/laurie_ky/pseuds/laurie_ky
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Following the events of A Fair Distance. Ball and Chain, Jim and Blair return to Cascade to try to catch the person responsible for sending hitmen after Blair.</p><p>Written by Laurie</p><p>The story is complete.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Beta'ed by the fabulous T. Verano, and written for Sentinel Thursday on LJ.
> 
> About the warnings: While there is violence described, I don't feel it was described graphically. Also, see the end notes for additional warnings.

**A Fair Distance: Comes a Time. Chapter One**

 

“Are you sure you’re up to doing this, Chief?” Jim had been eying me dubiously every so often on this last stretch of interstate before we rolled into Cascade, and I put on my best “don’t worry, everything's copacetic” face.

“I’m fine. Chill, will ya?” I wasn’t worried about going undercover to trap Bergman into admitting he had bought my car. Returning to Cascade…? Yeah, okay, I should at least admit to myself that for a couple of reasons I was feeling a shade ambivalent about coming back here.

I'd told Dave, the day after he arrested me, that I never wanted to come here again. Mostly I had felt that way because Jim and I’d fallen apart here, and I hadn’t wanted to chance seeing him again. I had thought it would be far too painful, and I wasn’t a masochist.

That reason wasn't valid any longer, since Jim and I had worked things out. The other reasons still had me chewing my lip about returning to my adopted hometown, though.

Dealing with Rainier was going to be one huge headache. I was going to have to jump back and forth through bureaucratic hoops to get my grievance approved, and I had a feeling that my helping to put Bergman behind bars was going to be resented. He was well liked, and me, I was persona non grata on campus. Well, I would tough it out; the guy had run over Chancellor Edwards with _my_ baby, and he should have to face the music on that.

Bergman must have sent his Karma into a nosedive for choosing to kill needlessly, even if it turned out he had thought there were extenuating circumstances.

He'd sunk his Karma even more by setting me up to be his patsy for her murder. He’d made sure that my car was ticketed that night by leaving it in a no parking zone -- man, everybody at Rainier knew the campus cops were like Nazis about parking in forbidden territory – and since he’d never registered the Volvo in his name, I was the last owner on record. If I hadn’t had an alibi for the night Edwards lost her life, I could have ended up in prison.

Prison. Shit, just being incarcerated for a week at the Sweetwater P.D. had been hard enough. It would have been a lot worse if instead of being coddled by being kept in a holding cell, I'd been sent to the actual jail in the next county. Ol’ red-haired Officer Mike had made sure I understood what a favor they were doing for the Cascade cops by keeping me isolated from the “rest of the scum.”

Jim nudged me, and I watched as we passed the green interstate sign that proclaimed we would arrive at Cascade in twelve miles. We’d be at the truck stop to meet Simon in a matter of minutes. It was almost time to get this show on the road. It was also time for another dose of Erythromycin. I got the antibiotic out of my backpack, leaned over and grabbed a water from the small cooler, and swallowed the pill along with a good slug of H2O.

“How sore is your throat compared to yesterday?”

“Hey, it’s really lots better.” Jim narrowed his eyes at me.

“Well, it really is better,” I protested.

“Lots better or a little better? And Sandburg, may I remind you of rule number three?”

Rule number three of our newly hammered out relationship rules: Honesty is the best policy. No shading the truth to protect the other one from dealing with something unpleasant or something likely to worry him.

Huh. It was so ingrained in me to nudge things just a bit so that the other party felt more comfortable with my answer that I was really going to have to watch what wanted to pop out of my mouth.

“It’s a little better.”

Jim grinned at me, and put his arm around me; I felt a little glow at his positive reinforcement.

My stomach chose that moment to growl. Jim’s smile turned upside down in a heartbeat.

“You should have eaten lunch. Why don’t you eat one of those bananas now, or get a meal when we stop to meet Simon?”

“C’mon, Jim. You have to admit it's a good idea for me to be obviously hungry when I meet with Bergman. I’ll be giving off all kinds of body cues that aren't easily faked, like my nostrils flaring and swallowing saliva when I smell food. Also, wearing yesterday’s stale clothes will really make me look the part of a hitchhiker who’s down on his luck.”

I chuckled a little. “You know, you're lucky that I checked on the stinkiness factor while you were in that gas station. One whiff, and I was practically choking; you'd have had to dial down. Be glad I kept the bag in the back of the truck.” I made a face, remembering the funky smell of those clothes. “But Bergman will be lulled into thinking I’m exactly what I’ll appear to be, not somebody trying to get him on tape as being the buyer for my car.”

Jim sighed. “So you’re going with the method-acting approach for undercover work. He’ll buy that you’re not doing too well. Jesus, Blair, you still look sick, and with all the weight you’ve lost, you’re going to come across as one step away from being a bum. And I filtered out the smell of your stinky clothes when we left this morning. I wish you didn't have to wear them.” I knew all of that bothered Jim, and I started stroking his thigh, in a kind of an apology for making him witness my transformation back into my traveling persona.

The gray afternoon darkened as a soft rain started spattering on the windshield. Good old Cascade weather with, as Simon was fond of saying, seven different kinds of rain. I guessed I could add one more detail to my disguise. I’d let myself get good and wet to foster the illusion that I’d been thumbing it out on the road.

I’d been hitchhiking in the rain the night I was arrested. The illusion wouldn’t be too far away from the truth.

Jim gave my shoulder a squeeze. “Give Simon a call. Let him know we’ll be there in approximately two to five minutes. And does Rainier have caller ID on their office phones?” Our exit was coming up and Jim turned me loose to put on his right turn signal.

I grabbed his phone and hit the speed dial for Simon. It would be good to hear his gruff voice again, but I had mixed feelings about seeing him and some of the other guys from Major Crimes, the ones I had considered my friends, too, not just Jim’s friends. Sure, I wanted to see Henri, Joel, and Megan, catch up on what had happened in their lives for the past year. Jim had told me Henri and his wife were expecting a baby, and I wanted to congratulate the proud papa to be. I wondered if Megan was planning on staying in Cascade or going back home to Australia, and how Joel was handling the stress of the job, now that he’d been in Major Crimes instead of the Bomb Squad for a couple of years.

I grimaced; I wasn’t looking forward to the pointed conversations about them having been worried about me, and asking why hadn’t I kept in touch this past year. What was I going to say? Some nonsense about time slipping away, that I'd meant to call or write? Or the truth: that since I’d broken up with Jim, it had been too painful to connect back with anything that reminded me of my past life with him?

Simon answered the phone and I dropped the introspection. I gave him our ETA and he gave me a description of his vehicle before signing off.

Then I answered Jim’s question about Rainier’s phones.

“The university didn’t have caller ID the last time I checked. I doubt they’ve made any changes since then; you know how slowly bureaucracy works. Want me to call Jack Kelso and find out for sure?”

Jim nodded and headed off the interstate towards a crowded assortment of fast food places and gas stations. I made a brief call to my old friend. I promised to come and see him when I could, and he confirmed that there was no caller ID for the Rainier phone system.

“What’s the deal, Jim?”

“Go ahead and call Bergman now and let him know you’re coming into town, arrange to meet him at Petro. I’d like to start rattling his cage and see what he does. H and Connor can fill us in as they keep tabs on him.”

I suspected that Jim wanted to hurry along my part in this set-up, so that I could get cleaned up and get some rest. I’d slept for a while after we’d crossed into Washington State, but that had been hours ago.

I took a couple of deep breaths, and then dialed Bergman’s extension, as Jim swung the truck into Roady's. He drove to the far end of the parking lot, and I spotted Simon standing next to a white van, holding an umbrella and smoking a cigar. Bergman’s secretary answered and transferred me to him, and I swallowed hard when I heard him casually toss out his new title.

“This is Chancellor Bergman. How can I help you?”

 

  
~oo~oo~oo~oo~  


As soon as I parked, Blair pulled on that shabby gray sweatshirt of his, grabbed his backpack, and gave me a soft caress on my cheek.

"Don't worry, okay? I'll be fine." He hopped out of the truck, retrieved his bag of smelly clothes from the back, and dashed through the cold, steady rainfall for the protection of Simon's umbrella. I watched Simon stick his cigar in his mouth and extend his hand to Blair, but my partner ignored his offer of a handshake and instead wrapped an arm around Simon's waist for a casual hug. Simon startled a little; Blair had apparently caught him by surprise, but he gave Blair's shoulder a hard squeeze in return. I knew he had never felt too comfortable with Blair's easy-going physical ways, but he'd missed Blair, and that return of affection he gave the prodigal son showed just how much he had been worried about one Blair Sandburg since last year.

I watched from the truck as Blair and Simon huddled together, the rain sheeting off the umbrella, while Simon gave Blair his instructions. He walked Blair around to the back of the white police van that was masquerading as a steam cleaning service vehicle -- got to love those magnetic side panel disguises -- and after Blair had climbed in, walked over to me. I rolled down my window.

"Detective."

"Sir."

He inhaled another lungful of expensive cigar and narrowed his eyes. "You and Sandburg _have_ worked things out, correct? I can expect that your head is now back where it belongs, not jammed up your ass?"

I looked him directly in the eyes. He'd been my friend and my captain for years now, and if I hadn't accepted his right to tear me a new one when I fucked up, I'd have walked out of Major Crimes a long time ago.

"We're good, Simon. And I apologize for being such a sorry son-of-a-bitch this last year. And, uh -- well, Sandburg and I would like to talk to you when we've wrapped up this case. Maybe I could spring for a steak dinner, or seafood--"

"To soften the blow you two are planning to hit me with, you mean? Jim. I'd like nothing better than to have Sandburg back on my team, but it's not going to happen. I hate the politics that come with this job, but the reality is that the kid has enemies that pack more clout than we do, and the Chief has made his position clear about Sandburg working with the department. I'm sorry, but my hands are tied."

Simon was scowling, but I knew it wasn't aimed at me. He'd made Blair the offer to go through the academy and join Major Crimes in good faith and with the backing of our division head. However, the Chief of Police had made that option moot when he rescinded the offer. But that didn't mean Captain Simon Banks felt okay about one of his men getting shafted like that.

"Dinner is still on me, Captain. And I, well, both of us, have something else to discuss with you..."

"Sure, Jim. It's nothing urgent, right?" I nodded. "Then save it for later. We can go to Robert's Steak House down on Pacific Avenue; Sandburg looks like he could use a few good meals. I'm assuming he's well enough to pull this off today, since you're backing him on this plan?"

I flipped my hand back and forth in a maybe gesture. "He says he's not feeling that sick, but he's been running a low fever off and on; I've agreed to respect his judgment, and he's promised that if he starts feeling worse he'll let me know."

Simon looked at me knowingly and raised his cigar back to his lips. "But you don't have to like it."

"No, sir. I don't have to like it." Simon left me then and strode back to the van, his long black coat and umbrella protecting him from the elements.

Finally the rear van doors opened; Blair jumped out and sheltered under Simon's umbrella again, carrying his backpack. I knew he'd planned to change back into yesterday's dirty clothes; he'd sprinkled water on them before tying them into a plastic bag last night. After this many hours they were stale and smelly, giving him street cred for being a transient. Besides the duds, he would be wearing a vest and a wire, and the cops handling the equipment in the van would monitor him while he met with Bergman.

As far as the guys in the van were concerned, they'd be keeping me in the loop about what was happening, but I'd be out there in the parking lot of Petro keeping my own tabs on my partner. Blair had thought that Bergman might have seen the two of us together on campus when Blair was a T.A., so I had to stay out of sight, but I'd be listening the whole time.

I was wondering why Simon and Blair hadn't left yet, since they were still by the van. Simon was giving Blair a ride in his car to the rendezvous with Bergman. He and Joel, who was already in position at Petro, would be in the restaurant for immediate backup. I listened in to find out what the holdup was.

"Are you positive you have to do it this way, Sandburg?'

"Yeah, Simon. Like I told Jim, don't worry; I'll be fine."

"Uh-huh. You told me you felt fine that time we were in Clayton Falls, too. Remember? Right before you passed out? I'm not sure we have the same definition of the word," Simon grumbled.

"It's my call, Captain. I think it's necessary in order to be realistic. Believe me, after I sold my car I spent plenty of time hitchhiking, sometimes in the rain. Bergman knows I'm thumbing it, and if I don't show up looking soaked, he might get suspicious. I need him to believe that I'm alone in the world and without resources; this way I'll look the part." Blair patted Simon's arm reassuringly. "I'm going to go talk to Jim for a moment; I'll meet you at the car."

Simon shook his head, and then hurried to his car. Blair walked slowly over to me, the rain darkening his sweatshirt and jeans.

I rolled my window back down and took a good hard look at him. His honey-colored skin was paler than normal, and he looked bedraggled; dark curls were sticking wetly to his forehead and cheeks.

"Hey," he said softly.

I smiled at him. "Got the vest on, Junior?"

He rolled his eyes. "Yes, _Mother_.

I beckoned him to step up closer to the window, and when he complied I gently reached inside his sweatshirt, my hand pausing on the side of his neck to feel his pulse -- steady and reassuring -- and then I cupped the back of his neck.

Blair's eyes darkened, and he shivered; I enjoyed the change in his scent as he started to become aroused. When his breathing increased to a faster rate, I languidly trailed my hand along his jaw line, stopping to outline his lips with my finger, his mouth obediently opening as I slipped my finger into his hot, wet mouth.

He suckled gently on it for a long moment, before I withdrew it. Indulging myself, I tugged on the partly visible chain around his neck, pulling free the necklace I'd first given him in friendship and rededicated early this morning as a pledge of my commitment. It felt warm in my hand, the many-pointed star a soft silver gleam in the gray light. I closed my hand protectively around it, sheltering it from the beating rain, and then slipped it home, gently brushing against the soft hairs on his upper chest. I wanted to touch his nipples, tweak them into hard nubs, but instead I sighed and leaned over to place a kiss on his forehead.

The kiss confirmed what I'd learned from cupping his neck. He was still running a low fever, and it had gone up a notch; it felt a little over one hundred degrees.

"Take some Tylenol. You can't afford to let that fever get any higher, not and be able to stay sharp."

He looked annoyed as he realized I'd checked him out, but he nodded. I found the container and got two capsules out, and handed them to him, along with a bottle of water.

I waited until after he'd finished drinking before talking to him again. We needed to move along to Petro and wait for Bergman to appear, but I knew he hadn't left campus yet since H and Connor were tailing him and hadn't alerted us.

The man had been surprised to hear from Blair, and had jumped at the chance to talk to my partner away from Rainier, the panic in his voice apparent to me. Soon afterward, H had reported his change of location to Robinson Hall. Blair had said that it was a science building and housed some chemistry and geology labs, along with classrooms. I thought it odd that Bergman would put off meeting with Blair to take care of some other errand first; I had scrutinized the sound of his heart over the phone, and it had hammered out alarm with every beat. The guys from Major Crimes assigned to this detail agreed that something was hinky; we didn't want to spook our quarry, so Conner planned on unobtrusively checking out his movements within the building, and H would tail him to Petro, then circle back and pick up Connor.

Blair handed the empty water bottle back to me, and I grasped his hand. "We invited Simon out for a steak dinner when we're done with this case. I told him we had something to discuss with him."

His eyes got bigger, reinforcing my image of him as a street urchin. "Are you sure, Jim?" He didn't elaborate; there was no need for the cops in the van to hear that we planned to tell Simon that we were lovers. We'd discussed this morning how out we wanted to be for hours on the way here from Montana, Blair not wanting me to do anything that made me feel uncomfortable or unsafe, and for my part, I didn't want him denying what we were to each other to people he cared about.

"Yes. It'll be all right, Blair. And... good luck, partner."

He shivered again, but this time it wasn't from arousal. "See you soon, Jim." He squeezed my hand hard before releasing it and striding to Simon's car.

 

~oo~oo~oo~oo~

 

I made Simon drop me off at the exit ramp and I walked the half mile down to Petro. By the time I pushed open the restaurant door, I was soaked.

Good. Well, good in that I knew my appearance would reassure Bergman that I was pretty powerless. Not so good in that once again, cold and wet was my world. I longed for a cup of hot coffee, and I knew the java would be decent at this place, because I'd often refueled and grabbed a meal at a Petro when I was driving an eighteen-wheeler. Pushing down my hood, I glanced unobtrusively around. Joel and Simon were sitting where they could cover the front door, and I was glad I had backup nearby, although I wasn't anticipating any problems.

The hostess collected some menus when I told her I was meeting someone, and I followed her to a booth, squelching the entire way. The other diners looking up to see who was making the racket, and I slid into the booth feeling a little self-conscious. Bergman would be here soon. Simon had gotten word that our quarry had finally left campus right before he'd stopped the car to let me get out.

Chancellor Bergman...

The jerk had helped to make my life miserable this past year; I hoped that I was a good enough actor to pull off not showing my resentment and anger at his actions. He wasn't going to get away with lying to the cops about me and trying to make me the number one suspect in Marie Edwards' death. Not to mention he must have continued sending out those fire-this-guy letters to my employers after he'd killed her.

He'd ended a human life. She'd been far from my favorite person, but she hadn't deserved to die at his hand. Jesus, there must have been another path he could have taken, no matter what provocation he felt.

Boy, his Karma was surely in the toilet.

"Hun, what happened to you? Were you changing a tire out in this rain?"

The waitress, a round little woman in her fifties with bright red hair, was filling my water glass and looking askance at me. I _was_ kind of dripping on the seat. I shrugged. Leaving the sweatshirt on would help assure that Bergman wouldn't notice the vest.

"No. I don't have a tire, let alone a car to attach it to. I was hitchhiking."

Her demeanor changed from concern about the state of my being to concern about the state of my wallet. I sighed and dug out a couple of bucks to lay on the table.

"I'm meeting somebody for coffee. Um... how much is a cup of joe, anyway?"

She smiled tiredly at me, probably resigning herself to no tip. "You've got enough there for coffee and refills for two. Want a cup now, sweetie?"

I shook my head and pocketed the money; my mind wandered a little as she walked away.

She'd called me sweetie. My mom called me that, too, and for the first time in months I actually wanted to talk to my mother. I wanted to tell her about me and Jim, explain to her that I was serious about him and that we were going to make things work this time.

I hoped. Things had turned around between us, but, man... at times today I'd wondered how we'd do when the next pile of shit hit the fan. But we'd really talked over the last few days and a lot of things had gotten said that needed to be said, and he'd listened to me and I'd listened to him. I had taken the plunge and let myself trust him on things I hadn't trusted him with when we first were lovers.

I'd told him the secrets I'd kept close and he'd been great about them. He'd understood that I'd had to protect my mom from being in trouble for forging my name. He hadn't seen me as damaged goods, either, when I'd told him about being sexually abused as a kid. And... it had been kind of freeing to release those secrets. "And ye shall know the truth, and the truth shall make you free" was inscribed over the door of Matthews Hall, I guess to inspire generations of Rainier English majors. I'd read that inscription several times a week since I'd been a freshman, unless I was out of town traveling or working or on an expedition, but I'd never really thought about those words in relation to my own life before.

Good words. I'd try and keep them in mind.

"Blair?"

I jumped in my seat. I'd been so lost in my own thoughts that I hadn't noticed Nathan Bergman walking up to my booth. _'Christ, Sandburg, get it together.'_

Nathan looked pretty much like the last time I'd seen him, a tall man, but not as tall as Jim, well-dressed, although there was a little more gray in his hair. He came across initially as being a little more old-fashioned than his actual years, but that impression was dispelled once he engaged you in a conversation. He had progressive views and although he wasn't particularly funny himself, he enjoyed a good joke or story. I'd really liked him, and he was popular amongst the students and faculty.

I skidded out of the booth and actually stumbled a little into him, and he wrinkled his nose as the “Eau de Sandburg” hit his olfactory organ. He steadied me by supporting my elbow, and I beamed up at him.

"Nathan, wow, hey, have a seat and let me buy you a cup of coffee. Man, it's the least I can do to thank you for coming here to see me. I could really use your advice -- I've been thinking about hiring a lawyer to sue the university, since my grievance went belly up. And another thing I've been tossing around -- you know, I lived here a long time and I've been wondering if I shouldn't just come back since it hasn't worked out trying to get established somewhere else. But... I don't know if stirring up the past is the best course, or if I should let sleeping dogs lie, you know, since mucking everything back up might just mean I'll end up with fleas, if I lie down with the mutts."

Nathan stared at me for a moment, probably stunned by the weight of the confused cliches I'd thrown at him. Then he shook his head and sat down. He said, a little anxiously, "Blair, did you just say that you're thinking about moving back to Cascade, but you aren't sure if it will really benefit you or not?"

I dropped back onto the bench seat and nodded, then waved at the red-haired waitress, who stopped to pick up a coffee pot before swinging around to our table. My mind was racing and my head was throbbing a little. Stress, I guessed, and I was glad that Jim had suggested taking Tylenol. Seeing Nathan and knowing he had been manipulating me over the last year and a half was harder than I'd thought it would be, but I had to stay focused and get him to admit that he'd bought my car.

After our waitress had filled our cups and left, Nathan pressed his fingers against his temples and tiredly said, "So you've changed your mind about not suing? You told me before that you wouldn't do that because the costs would just be passed along to the students, and you didn't believe that would be fair to them."

I had told him that and I did still believe it, but in order to put some pressure on him I was going to let him think I might sue after all. I'd never claimed that the publication Sid and my mom had pushed had been my dissertation, so there was a solid basis for a grievance and possibly a lawsuit. I would let him talk me out of doing it, and convince me to move on. The relief he'd feel would hopefully make him less guarded about answering questions about my Volvo.

I waved my hands in an exaggerated gesture of frustration. "I don't know what to do, Nathan. I left Cascade ready to move on and start over, but every time this past year when I tried to settle in somewhere, I got blocked. Sometimes, despite the help you gave me with your reference letters, Dr. Edwards' letters badmouthing me would show up." I ran my fingers through my damp mop of hair. "I guess my employers double checked my credentials and Dr. Edwards would send them her letter -- and then I'd get canned. I'm tired of it. I don't want to sue, you know I don't want to do that, but what other choices do I have left? If you have any advice for me, I'd really like to hear it. You're the only person I've kept in contact with in Cascade. Hell, my own mother doesn't even know where I am or what I'm doing."  
My voice trailed off tiredly, and I picked up my coffee and took a long swallow. Nathan was watching me, and I could see the pity in his eyes. Guess my cover was solid.

"Hey, but I'm being rude, _Chancellor_ Bergman. How have you been? And when did you take over for Chancellor Edwards? How do you like the job?" There. I was curious to know what he would come up with to explain her death.

"Everything is going well, and I've had the opportunity to implement some changes that I think will really benefit the university. We've increased the health coverage to better benefit teaching assistants and fellows, for example."

"Man, back when I was a police observer I could have really used that; I had more than my share of doctor bills." I gave a soft whistle. "I bet Dr. Edwards had a cow when she heard about increasing the insurance for us lowly graduate students."

"Actually, Blair, she didn't retire and hand the scepter over to me. She died in a car accident. I'm surprised you haven't heard anything about it." He made a suitably sorrowful face.

I feigned shock at his news. Two could play this game.

"A car accident? Holy Krishna, when did that happen?"

"Last summer. She was killed immediately in the accident, so at least she didn't suffer. I took over as temporary chancellor, and two months later was given the permanent position.”

He took a sip of his coffee, and cleared his throat. “Blair, you said your employers are still getting that vicious letter she wrote about you? I hadn't realized that was still happening. I can promise you that I'll put a stop to it. You know I never agreed with her actions concerning you, and I _will_ make sure that any future employers receive a glowing recommendation with copies of your transcript." He leaned a little closer to me over the table. "But son, I'm afraid that there's only so much I can do in regards to your returning to Rainier. Dr. Edwards had nothing to do with your grievance being evaluated as unfounded and, my boy, I'm afraid that you've burned too many bridges to be in good standing with the Anthropology Department. I really feel a fresh start elsewhere would be in your best interest." He reached over the table and patted my arm.

I sighed heavily. "I don't know, Nathan. Maybe you're right. I've got no future here with law enforcement either, not as a consultant or a cop. And the guys I hung out with from the P.D. -- well, they were Jim's friends, not mine, not really. Jim -- do you remember him? Or me talking about him? He was my friend and roommate, not to mention the main guy I observed at the P.D. Well anyway, Jim and I had a falling out and we're not in contact anymore, and I don't expect that to change either; since then his friends have closed ranks, and I'm definitely on the outside of that closed society."

I gave a mirthless laugh. It wasn't hard to sound a little bitter while I painted a bleak picture of myself as friendless and alone. I'd chosen not to contact Connor or H or Simon mostly because anything touching on Jim had been too painful to willingly engage in – even checking in with old friends. But when at odd times, feeling lonely, I had considered picking up the phone and calling anyway, I'd talk myself out it. I'd been afraid of getting the cold shoulder from them, sure that Jim had painted my leaving in the worst way. I had preferred to remember them as my friends, too, even if we had drifted apart before I'd skipped town.

The waitress returned, and after filling our cups, asked if we wanted to order anything else. She looked hopefully at Nathan, but he declined, saying that he would be expected home for supper. I dropped my eyes and shook my head when she inquired if I needed anything else. She bustled away and disappeared into the kitchen. I would leave her a small tip, if I could do it without Nathan noticing. Waiting on tables was hard work, and I'd done my share of it. The last place I'd worked that kind of job had been at The Meeting Place. I'd made pretty good tips there, although I gave an internal wince when I remembered how Jim had thought that my tips were generous because I'd allowed the customers to cop a feel along with me mildly flirting with them. I felt my face flush with heat, and knew it wasn't because of my damn fever.

Nathan noticed. He cocked his head a little and said, "Are you feeling well, son?"

I waved a hand dismissively. "I'm all right." I shoved down the surge of embarrassment that had just overwhelmed me. Back then I'd accepted those touches as something to endure as part of the job. My mind had twisted an unacceptable behavior into something normal. I sighed. The thing about skewed thinking is that you don't know that your perceptions are off until somebody else clues you in. Maybe I needed to talk more about it with Jim until I could accept what I'd done without wincing. I needed to forgive myself for mistakes made in the past and move on. If it came to it, I'd go back into therapy. I wasn't going to let the predator who'd tormented me as a kid keep influencing my life as an adult. Those black holes I'd seen at the edges of my aura were visual proof to me that I still had some healing to do.

A hand waved in front of my eyes and I looked at Nathan. He had an expression on his face that I would have sworn was genuine concern. What a laugh. This guy must be a hell of a poker player; of course, he excelled at university politics and that would polish up anybody's bluffing skills.

“Blair, I want you to think very hard about the ramifications if you sue the university regarding the work that was announced as your dissertation. Certainly, the board could recommend settling out of court to avoid negative publicity. But if you do this, you must understand that you will have blackballed yourself from any further academic situation. Nobody wants to welcome a known troublemaker, and that's what you're going to be considered -- a troublemaker. And if the university chooses to not agree to the terms of your lawsuit and you go to court, your character will be attacked. Probably it would be sensationalized in the news, maybe even on the Internet. Do you want that kind of attention? And initially the university understood from Berkshire Publishing that you _had_ given permission for your dissertation to be published. You clearly revoked that permission, but inquiries were made regarding the situation, and I believe your mother admitted to several people that she had taken the liberty of signing your name for you on Berkshire's authorization forms.”

He looked at me and sadly shook his head.

“If Rainier is sued, the university would certainly try to pass the responsibility and the damages along to the publishing company. And they in turn would try and incriminate your mother, if it could be proved that she was responsible for forging your name. Do you realize that means your mother might end up on the other side of the lawsuit from you?"

He patted my arm again. "I know this has all been terribly unfair, and I want you to know that I'm very sorry for what's been done to you. But at this point, don't we have to look at what is the greater good, and make some sacrifices? It will harm the university to have this all dragged up again, and I do believe you are loyal to your alma mater. And you are correct in stating that the cost of the lawsuit would end up depriving the students of much needed funds. Also, of course, there are the issues I just mentioned that would affect your future."

He pursed his lips thoughtfully, and stroked his chin. "So... I don't recommend you sue and I don't recommend that you try to return to Cascade. But Blair, let me assure you again that I'll put an end to the letters Dr. Edwards had arranged to be sent to your employers, and that I'll write you a very good letter of reference to accompany your transcripts or proof of your degrees. And, I believe I may have the solution for your academic problems."

He smiled at me, in a paternal kind of way, and when my stomach chose that moment to growl, he beckoned the waitress over.

"Miss, could you bring this young man a cheeseburger and french fries, and hmm... a salad, with -- what kind of dressing would you like?"

I started to protest but he ignored me, so I mumbled thanks at him and asked for ranch on the salad.

While we waited for my order he explained that he would contact the dean of the graduate division at the University of California and pave the way for my acceptance into their Ph.D Anthropology program. As he explained it, the guy owed him a couple of favors, and he would call in his markers for me. I asked all the right questions, and he assured me that his buddy could not only get my Rainier credits accepted, but that I would only have to do a new dissertation. He told me he'd arrange for a job, maybe not teaching any classes, which would probably be too public for right now, but as a research assistant, or grading papers. The bottom line was that I would be guaranteed some sort of position to help offset the cost of graduate school, plus free tuition.

I saw an opportunity to swing the conversation around to my Volvo, and after inhaling the fries and burger that had appeared in front of me, I offered Nathan the bait.

"If I return to school, that means getting even deeper into student loan hell since even with the sweet deal your friend can offer, I'll have to borrow money for books and for living expenses. I've been making a real effort this last year to pay off my loans, and I'm not sure I want to increase them."

Nathan tut-tutted at me. "Blair, you surely realize that not taking advantage of this opportunity would be false economy. Going back to school will postpone your loans, and you'll be able to earn a better salary when you graduate to pay them off. I know you know this, so why are you hesitating?"

I sighed. This was going to be a little more honest than I really wanted to be, and I was very much aware that my partner was listening to every word being spoken here.

"It probably won't make any sense -- but paying off my loans as soon as possible is really important to me. Traveling the way I do and being rootless, well, it kind of eats away at me. And while I've met some nice folks, and seen some old friends, some of them from my childhood, I wasn't really a part of their lives. Maybe if I'd stayed and built on those connections I'd have felt differently, but I've always moved on before they got tired of me being around, since permanent jobs kept getting sabotaged. Any truck driving jobs I've had just added to that feeling of drifting along. But my loans are my responsibility, an anchor to all those years I spent as a student, and it makes me feel normal to send off my payments. I want to pay them off as quickly as possible because it's like an illusion or maybe it'd be more accurate to say it's a delusion, but I feel that when the loans are totally paid back, then my Karma is bound to change. So I try to make extra payments whenever I can. As a matter of fact, the money from you--"

I had been loading up my fork with salad while I was talking and now I shoved it in my mouth and took my time about chewing it. If I stayed silent, then Nathan might feel compelled to finish my sentence.

He fell for it, hook, line, and sinker.

"The money from me buying your Volvo, you mean? You used all of that to pay off your loans?"

I swallowed my mouthful of salad and answered him. "I used almost all of it to wipe out a good chunk. And can I say, once again, thank you for buying my car. I knew that my baby was going to be in good hands with you. Hey, did you drive here in it? I'd love to see her again."

He shook his head. "I'm afraid that I don't have that car any longer. There was an accident -- I wasn't hurt -- but the car was totaled. I'm sorry to have to tell you that."

I tried to look downcast, and I expressed a pretense of dismay over that news, but I felt like jumping up and doing a victory dance. Mission accomplished.

I finished up the salad, and the waitress asked about dessert or more coffee as she stopped by to take my dishes. Nathan ordered me the fruit salad. I let him; it wouldn't be in character for me to turn it down. He busied himself with writing down the name and phone number of the dean on the Berkley campus who was going to get me back into school, but cautioned me to wait until January 2 before contacting the man, since the guy was going to be out of the country till then. He was insistent that I not try the usual admission process in the meantime. He thought that might force his friend into a corner if I was denied admittance through the usual channels. I pretended to be dubious about waiting until a couple of days before the semester began to try and enroll; I told him I didn't think it would be enough time to get admitted, but he insisted that after a phone call from him, his friend would arrange everything.

"Well, Blair, our time here is nearly ended. What have you decided to do?"

He seemed calm, but maybe learning what Jim could observe from suspects had rubbed off on me -- I could see the fine line of sweat at Nathan's hairline, and his breathing had speeded up.

"I'll take you up on your offer of assistance, and go back to school in California. As a matter of fact, I guess I'll leave from here and hitchhike down there tonight. There's nothing for me in Cascade, and no point to revisiting my old haunts. And, yeah, I don't really want to sue -- I'm afraid it would backfire on me and Naomi." He looked inquiringly at me and I added, "My mom."

I could see his whole body relax with my decision, but I was thrown by the look of sympathy and... sadness he gave me. Jeez, I must look even more pitiful than I had intended.

The waitress returned with the fruit dish, and Nathan asked her for the bill. I pulled out money for the tip, but Nathan told me to put it away.

"I'm getting this, Blair. I'll add on the tip at the register." The waitress smiled at that news and gave the slip of paper to Nathan.

"Wait for me, son, will you?" Without waiting to hear my reply, he left the table and went up to the register. While I ate the fruit -- tempted to leave the bananas alone but I pictured Jim's reproachful face and dutifully shoved them down my throat -- Nathan left the restaurant for the store area. I thought maybe he was using the john, but he returned with a heavy jacket emblazoned with the Jags' name. I had stood up, ready to leave, when he handed me the jacket.

"I want you to have this. And please, toss that sweatshirt in the trash; it's rather ripe and it's worn out."

"Nathan, you don't have to--"

"Let me help make you more comfortable for the next couple of weeks, all right? I think your decision to head down to California and out of this never-ending rain tonight is wise. There's nothing for you anymore in Cascade, and a new life is waiting for you down there. And don't make a fuss about this." He took a roll of bills out of his pocket and wrapped my hand around them. "I don't want any of it back; let's say that in a small way it's some of the compensation you deserve from Rainier. It's enough to pay for shelter till you get back on your feet."

I was conflicted. Here I was gathering evidence that would most likely result in his being found guilty of murdering Chancellor Edwards, and he was bending over backwards to be nice to me. I guess I just didn't understand the guy. He'd helped to make my life difficult for the last year, he probably was the one who had hired hit men to take me out, but he was concerned that I stay warm enough while traveling. Hell, maybe he was feeling guilty, maybe his actions against me hadn't been real to him till now.

Well. Karma always comes around, and his was knocking on the door.

"Go and change, please, and meet me outside, all right? We'll say goodbye there." He nudged me toward the restroom area at the back of the restaurant before heading towards the exit.

I decided to take his advice about the sweatshirt, and after using the facility, employed the sleeve of it as a washcloth to knock back some of the earthy scent that was clinging to me. I also changed into a clean shirt and jeans. If nothing else, Jim would probably appreciate it.

A few minutes later, backpack in hand, I walked out of Petro and looked around for Nathan. I didn't see him, but I did see Simon and Joel hanging out under the overhang, apparently waiting till the rain let up before making a dash to their vehicle. The plan was to not take Bergman into custody until a judge had approved both an arrest and a search warrant, in case he had the car stashed somewhere on his property. He'd be tailed again by Connor and H as soon as he drove away.

Nathan came around the side of the building, and I wondered why he'd ducked over there. He had a large insulated travel mug with him, the thermos kind that I'd used when I was truck driving, and as he came closer he handed it to me.

"Coffee for your trip, Blair. And I'm sure that if you ask around when people are leaving, you'll find somebody traveling south. I'm heading back into Cascade, but I'll wait with you till you find a ride."

He gripped both of my shoulders and squeezed them. "I'm sorry, Blair, for all the trouble you've been put through. You're a fine young man, and you didn't deserve to have to sacrifice so much." He let go of me and indicated the thermos mug I held. "Drink up, my boy, before it gets cold."

I just held onto the mug. I wasn't born yesterday. Even though Bergman had bent over backwards to be nice to me tonight, he _had_ been manipulating me for the past year. He almost certainly had murdered Marie Edwards. I wasn't going to let my guard down.

Jim's voice boomed out into the evening. "Blair! Move away from him and for God's sake don't touch the liquid in that cup!" I followed his orders while Bergman looked up in confusion. I felt kind of sorry for him, even though I was suspecting he'd drugged my drink.

It looked like the arrest was going down right now; Joel and Simon moved in quickly from the left, and Simon ordered Bergman to place his hands on top of his head. He complied, with a shocked look on his face, and then he started demanding that he be released, and asking why he was being detained.

Jim walked straight to me, and I smiled at him. "Hi, partner."

Said partner took a napkin out of his pocket and gently took the thermos from me, wrapping it in the layers of paper. "You've got to cut back on the caffeine, Chief. It's not good for you."

"I think I agree with you, Jim."

Simon was cuffing Bergman, and Jim took the thermos over to him, a furious look on his face. Bergman's angry protests stopped as Jim shoved the mug right under his nose.

"You can leave, Bergman, if you'll drink this coffee you gave Blair first." Bergman closed his eyes and his whole body slumped. He shook his head.

"No? Well, then, Nathan Bergman, you're under arrest for the murder of Marie Edwards -- and the attempted murder of Blair Sandburg. Blair isn't going to be your sacrifice any longer. Joel, care to read the man his rights?"

Joel gave the Miranda warning, and Simon and Jim discussed the logistics of moving Bergman to Booking. I went back over to Nathan after he agreed that he understood his rights.

"Nathan. I'll give you your money and the jacket back, but I want to know what's in the coffee. You might as well tell us, because it will be going to the lab for analysis." I was betting on Rohypnol or GBH, something that would have made it hard for me to know what was going on. I suspected that the ride to California would have been in Bergman's car, and that it would have been the last time I ever hitchhiked.

Bergman refused to look at me, and I did my aura trick -- and his aura was dimmed by muddy blue, green, and gray shades. I wasn't going to be able to heal him without his consent, but maybe... I called on the power of my animal spirit. I felt a surge of -- not exactly power, but...

"Nathan. I know that you've suffered." I could hear the compassion in my own voice and I knew I sounded compelling. "But it's over now and you don't have to keep any more secrets. Those secrets will be freed. You can control how we learn about them by telling us what happened to make you choose murder, but if you don't, you'll have no say in your own story. Isn't it time to tell that story? Make a first step, man. What's in the coffee?"

Bergman looked at me then, and bit his lip. He made the decision; I could see it in his eyes.

"It's acrylamide. It's a chemical and it's very dangerous." The effort of admitting what he'd done seemed to overwhelm him then, and he fell silent.

Joel, however, reacted with shock. "Good Lord, we're going to need Hazmat out here. Simon -- can you go inside and get a couple of plastic or glass containers. Until the Hazmat unit arrives, we need to secure that mug and Jim and Blair need to wash their hands, and the wash water needs to be saved."

Jim carried the thermos out into the parking lot away from the restaurant and set it down on the ground.

Joel called for the Hazmat team to come out, and then took one of the containers Simon had gotten from the kitchen -- an empty five gallon pickle jar – and cautiously picked up the thermos mug wearing gloves and a mask he had gotten from his car. He placed it carefully inside the large jar and screwed on the lid. Joel helped Jim and me and also Bergman rinse our hands, saving the wash water in another pickle jar.

H and Megan left their vehicle and joined us, but Joel regretfully told them they needed to keep their distance. They loudly told me hello and that this was just like old times, with me in the middle of trouble once again, and Megan blew me a kiss before Simon sent them back to the station.

When the Hazmat team arrived, they put Bergman, Jim, and me through on-site decontamination, then decided that we needed to go to the hospital for further decontamination, although Bergman protested that he had a doctorate in chemistry and knew exactly what he'd been doing and there _was_ no contamination.

Right.

Nobody felt like taking his word for it, so he was taken under guard by a couple of uniforms -- Kohl and Johnson, I'd met them before -- to the hospital, and then he'd be transferred to Booking.

Jim and I drove ourselves over to the hospital. Jim didn't think we had been in contact with the poison, he couldn't feel or smell anything on our hands, but we weren't going to take any chances. We both were wearing latex gloves, as a precaution against spreading any contamination, and we'd sponged down and changed clothes under a privacy tarp the Haz-mat guys had provided. I shivered -- the scrubs provided by the unit weren't exactly warm.

I looked at the city streets, wet and shiny, as we made our way to Cascade General.

"Jim? How did you know he'd put something in the coffee? I mean, I wasn't going to drink it -- not something that had been out of my sight -- but you knew for sure that it had been messed with."

"Well, for one thing Connor had checked out his movements in that science building and had let us know that he'd spent time in a chemistry lab. And then, when you were in the bathroom, he bought the thermos and had the waitress fill it only partly full with coffee. And that that seemed off. Why not fill it up? Then he went out to his car with it and I could hear him fiddling with some bottle or jar, and then he started talking to himself, asking for forgiveness. He said, 'I'm so sorry, Blair, I really am, forgive me, but I need to do this for the greater good.' So when he gave you that travel mug and urged you to drink up, that was the last clue. I had told the others that I'd seen him tampering with it -- I'd gotten out of the truck by then and was doing recon -- and that we could bust him right here as soon as he handed you the thermos."

I grinned at him. "It must have just about killed you to wait before warning me. Thanks, partner, for trusting me to have my wits about me."

Jim squeezed my thigh. "I wanted so badly to keep him away from you. And now that I know for sure that he was going to poison you -- well, I might need a lot of reassurance after we put this case to bed."

I laughed as his hand traveled further up my thigh. "Hey, reassuring my sentinel is a specialty of mine." He teased me briefly before moving his hand back to the steering wheel.

"Jim? Am I done now with protective custody?" God, I hoped so. I didn't want to go to a safe house; I wanted to go back to the loft. With him.

"Not until Bergman confesses about the hit men he hired to take you out. It's probably going to be a long night -- I'll want to hammer him hard while he's still in shock over being arrested, before he decides to lawyer up. Maybe you _should_ go to a safe house and get some rest."

I shook my head determinedly. "Nope. I'll just hang in the bullpen and wait for you."

"Fine by me. But you can't be in on the interrogation."

"Yeah, I know. I think I'll use your computer and research the effects of acrylamide and find out just what kind of death Bergman had planned for me."

Jim shuddered, and I released my seat belt and scooted over next to him. He slung his arm around my shoulders, and I re-buckled, before relaxing against him. He made the turn onto Miller Avenue, taking us closer to the ER. That should be fun. Oh, well, I couldn't deny that I could use a hot shower.

Man, I was back in Cascade. Wistfully, I wondered if returning would feel like coming home.

 

~oo~oo~oo~oo~

 


	2. A Fair Distance. Comes a Time. Chapter Two

It was hours before we were through with the decontamination procedures at Cascade General. Blair and I had showered in a safe area in the ER and had changed into new scrubs before getting some baseline urine and blood work done. Acrylamide didn't leave any traces in the body, but the docs had deemed the tests necessary in case poisoning symptoms showed up later. It wasn't likely, though. Before I had touched the travel mug that held the coffee Bergman had tampered with, I had wrapped the handle with napkins to avoid adding my fingerprints to it, and that action had provided another layer of protection. Blair had only touched the mug with one hand and we didn't think he had inhaled any vapors.

Bergman had cooperated with the medical staff, although he insisted that he had followed all lab safety protocols for dealing with this dangerous chemical. He finally got taken to Booking shortly before midnight. I'd question him after he was processed in, and I'd take Blair, who was still in protective custody, with me to the bullpen. Anyway, as Blair pointed out, we hadn't arranged a safe house for the night, and in the morning he had to give an official statement regarding Bergman. Mostly he was indulging me by staying close, but I was fine with that.

I would have stopped at the loft to change and Blair could have borrowed a pair of sweatpants and a warm shirt; however, I saw a golden opportunity to buy him some new clothes, and he couldn't argue about it. The ER doc hadn't let him keep his backpack or any clothes that had been in it on the off-chance that Bergman had contaminated them. Blair protested that his stuff had never been left alone with Bergman, but he lost that argument.

Blair agreed to a whirlwind expedition to Walmart, as long as I handed over the receipts so he could pay me back later. We loaded up a cart for mostly him, but some for me since I was in scrubs, too, and then headed to the P.D.

I knew Simon would let Blair sleep in his office, and truthfully, _I_ would feel better knowing I could check on him even while I was breaking Bergman into pieces. My senses felt strong, centered, since Blair and I had reconnected; it would be no hardship to listen in on him from the interrogation room.

Blair hesitated for a moment before we entered Major Crimes, but then headed straight for my desk, trailing a hand along the edge of it before dropping down into my chair. He'd been quiet ever since we'd left Walmart, and I wished he'd start chattering about something. Blair expounding on things that popped into his head meant normal to me, and God, I wanted normal with him.

I grabbed the chair from Connor's desk and joined Blair. "Hey, are you feeling okay?"

He flipped his hand back and forth, indicating he wasn't sure yet, and bit his lip. "Yeah, although the Tylenol should wear off soon, and then I'll be able to tell if I've still got the fever. I just... it's that... Well, I didn't think I'd ever be back in the bullpen again, and man, I've got so many memories from when I belonged here." He pointed to a wall. "Over there is where Zeller shot Megan. I was standing right next to her when it happened. And seeing Rhonda's candy dish, and H's hula girl statue and knowing Simon's angel collection is there on his shelves... I guess I'm just feeling a little nostalgic."

I said quietly, "I wish that you could be here with me every day. Simon let me know that isn't an option. I don't know why the brass dug in their heels about you not becoming a cop or even a consultant again, but you're still on the Chief's shit list; we can't work together like we did before. I'm sorry."

Blair smiled regretfully. "I know, Jim. There's a line from a book by Nelson Mandela about how he processed coming back to his life after prison. I can't remember the exact quote but I kind of feel the same way."

He yawned then, and I jerked my thumb towards Simon's office. "Get some shut-eye. Getting Bergman to crack might take all night. Do you think he'll lawyer up?"

Yawning again, Blair nodded. "He's an intelligent man, and sure, he's going to want a lawyer. But Jim, he's got a story to tell, and I think if you keep on that theme, he might spill his guts. Whatever the hell Edwards did to bring him to the point of murder, he must have stewed about it for a long time. And you know, I think he felt guilty about trying to kill me. He didn't have to give me that coat – not that I got to keep it for very long, since it's headed for the incinerator -- or that money. Why did he do that? It's like he was trying to take care of me, even though he thought he had to feed me poison. Push him on that, Jim, and I think he might talk despite getting a lawyer."

I stood up then and helped him lever himself up. He squeezed my hand before pulling away from me. We walked over to Rhonda's desk and I took the key to Simon's door from its hiding place. We stepped into Simon's dark office, and I pulled a blanket out of a filing cabinet and tossed it to my partner. He unlaced his new shoes -- cheap but they'd do for now -- and stretched out on the couch, wiggling until he was comfortable, ending up facing me. I stepped closer to him and ran my fingers through his curls. I tugged on one, and then moved to Simon's desk. I could hear my phone from here without extending my hearing, and I was going to give into my desire to stand watch over my sleeping friend. My partner. My lover. My guide. There were so many facets to what we were to each other

"G'night, Jim." He tilted his head in the way that told me he was checking out my aura. "Colors are looking good, my man. You know, you don't have to stand guard."

"Let me do this, Blair, at least until I have to go. It... feels right."

He blew me a kiss, and closed his eyes, sighing, it seemed to me, with tiredness and contentedness.

"Go to sleep, okay?" _Guide_ , I added to myself. _Go to sleep, babe._

~oo~oo~oo~oo

 

When my phone rang out in the bullpen, I stopped to feel Blair's forehead before I left Simon's office to answer it. He was warm with a low fever, but was sleeping soundly, since he didn't stir when I touched him. I quietly turned the lock and closed the door and hoped that Blair wouldn't be disturbed till Simon banged on the door in the morning. I grinned to myself as I pictured Simon's exasperated expression at being turfed out of his own space.

It was Joel on the phone and he told me he'd re-read Bergman his rights and for now the man was marinating nicely in Interrogation Room 4, waiting for me to come and grill him.

I decided he could wait a bit longer – let his anxiety increase – and then I called Connor. We'd had a few quiet words at the hospital after I had been decontaminated, and while she couldn't stick around till the staff finished with Blair, she'd insisted that I call her if I needed help. She'd been furious that Bergman had tried to poison Blair, and felt torn between wanting to hug the stuffing out of “her Sandy” and kicking his ass for not keeping in touch with her, especially when she'd heard enough details of his past year to know that he'd had a bad time.

I spent the half hour till she arrived going through my mail. Findley had mailed back my phone, and I slipped it into my flannel shirt pocket. I repackaged his in the same box, wrote his address on it, and stuck it on Rhonda's desk so it could be mailed out in the morning.

Connor and I exchanged grunts when she took over guard duty for me. I hadn't forgotten that there had to be a leak from within the P.D. -- someone had given away Blair's whereabouts to whoever had hired the hit-men. While Blair was sleeping, Conner would keep watch. When he woke up, I knew he'd protest that being in the bullpen provided enough security. He'd argue that I was being overprotective if I asked one of the few detectives who I trusted absolutely – Joel, Megan, Henri, Rafe – to take charge of his protective custody detail. No doubt it had been Bergman who had hired the hit-men, since he'd wanted Blair dead badly enough to get his own hands dirty. Probably Blair was safe now that the man was in custody, but I didn't want to take any chances until Bergman admitted it. Hopefully, by the time Blair woke up, I'd be done with Bergman and we could go home.

Home to the loft. It had stopped feeling like my home when Blair left – just became a place to try to sleep and to fix meals. With Blair living there, it would return to being our home. I was looking forward to that. I was looking forward to making love with him in our bed again.

Before I entered the interrogation room where Bergman sat secured in handcuffs, I concentrated and listened to Blair's heartbeat – slow and steady, so he was still asleep. Conner was cursing softly to herself as she wrangled with some of her paperwork. The watch was hers, and I took a moment to consider my strategy for getting Bergman to confess. Then I opened the door, ready to confront him.

 

~oo~oo~oo~oo

 

I nodded my head to Bergman, acknowledging him, and then I sighed, hoping I sounded sympathetic. “There's no call for you to be in handcuffs. I apologize for my colleagues, they can get carried away sometimes.” I walked the short distance – very short, they designed these rooms to make the prisoner feel confined and eager to be compliant with the interrogator, so they could leave – and freed him.

I had an agenda to follow for this interrogation, which would be filmed and not just tape recorded. Bergman was an intelligent man -- getting him to confess would be crucial in charging him with Edwards' murder. I'd start by seeing if I could develop some rapport with him. Bring up things we had in common, and then I'd start mapping out his physical responses to my questions. His reactions to questions involving just memory wouldn't be the same as his responses to questions that he would have to formulate an answer to before responding back. This was because people accessed memories from one area of the brain but when they made up answers they accessed a different one.

I sat down across from him, observing his pallor, the slump of his shoulders. “Long day, long night. You must be tired, Nathan. Uh, it is okay if I call you Nathan, isn't it? Blair Sandburg's mentioned you quite a bit over the last few years; I feel like we've known each other for a while now.” I didn't actually stop to let him answer those questions. At this stage of the game, I would be doing the talking and he would be mostly listening. I continued with using his first name.

“Nathan, how long have you worked for the university?” I smiled at him, encouraging him to answer.

His eyes moved to the right, indicating he was accessing his memory. No need to make up an answer when the truth would do. “Twenty-five years.”

“Wow, that's a lot of time you've dedicated to making Rainier one of the best universities in the state. I went to school there, even played football. Best time of my life, and it was due to motivated people like yourself. You taught chem, didn't you, before you became an administrator?”

A soft yes, another involuntary glance to the right. I went on building rapport, establishing connections between ourselves, and easing him into answering my questions.

Joel was watching behind the one-way mirror. He would come in later and engage in strategies that we hoped would make Bergman feel uncomfortable with this second, unfriendly cop. When Joel left the room, threatening to return later, Bergman might confide in me, since hopefully the rapport I was establishing now would make me seem more sympathetic to him than Joel. Classic good cop, bad cop, which worked on people a fair amount despite any movies they might have seen which gave them a heads up about that tactic.

So far, all the questions I'd directed his way had been non-incriminating. He hadn't asked for a lawyer yet. He hadn't insisted on his right to silence. That was promising. He shifted on his chair – an uncomfortable one that was there to deliberately increase his discomfort – and I switched to asking questions about how he thought the students and the faculty perceived his time as chancellor. His eyes looked upwards as he gave me the answers he crafted in that moment. Yep. Eyes to the right for memory, eyes looking upward for processing an answer. When I asked him where the Volvo was or how he'd arranged for hit-men to kill Blair while my partner had been in Sweetwater, I'd know if he was remembering the truth or making up a whopper. I'd use my ability to read him through increased heartbeats and perspiration, too, but that behavior could be muddled by just plain anxiety. The eyes thing was a documented, standard interrogation technique.

This stage of rapport building continued for another twenty minutes or so, and his responses to me had been positive enough. We'd stick with me being the main interrogator, then.

“Nathan, let me give you some advice. We know that you tried to poison Blair Sandburg tonight. Blair called, asked to meet, and you agreed. You left your office and went to a chemistry lab and took acrylamide with you when you left. You drove to Petro and spoke for some time with Blair Sandburg. You doctored a travel mug of coffee with the acrylamide you stole from the university lab and gave it to Blair Sandburg.”

Bergman opened his mouth, but I kept right on talking.

“You're going down for attempted murder. The coffee you poisoned is considered a deadly weapon, and lab tests will confirm what you already told us: that there was acrylamide in that mug.”

His heartbeat was changing tempo as I spoke, and the quickened sound started to engulf me but I countered its effect by scratching my arms roughly, the sharp sensation grounding me.

Blair had shown me that trick years ago.

I continued, “Now, some people might think that you hate Blair Sandburg, but I have to say I don't think that's the case. I mean, you bought the guy dinner and a jacket. You didn't have to do that, or give him money.” I explored this theme for a while, that he hadn't acted against Blair in malice, and by the subtle body-language tells – the small nods he probably wasn't even aware he was making, listening to me without interrupting – he was accepting this theme that he liked Blair.

It made him sound like a good guy, and you know, nobody is the villain of their own story. It was my intent to get him to spill why a good guy like him had taken the steps that had led to murdering Marie Edwards.

I stood up and moved to the chair which was next to his. I made eye contact with him, and squeezed his shoulder comfortingly.

“But you did hate Marie Edwards. She never appreciated all the work you did to make Rainier a better school for the students. In fact, she blocked you a lot, didn't she?” I squeezed his shoulder again before standing up, dwarfing him in his chair.

“She was a terrible person, and you were her second in command. I bet you had to clean up a lot of the messes she made. And it wasn't only the students that she derided, was it? Why did you stay? A bright, capable, dedicated man like yourself, why stay for the abuse she heaped on you?”

Bergman listened, captivated, those small nods telling me I was accurately describing his feelings.

“She was holding something over you and you had no choice; you couldn't leave that position, and somebody needed to look out for the students. You had no choice but to remove her, and you were so clever, Nathan, when you realized that Blair Sandburg could be used as a decoy.”

I'd kept my voice low, but now I was only speaking loud enough for the camera to pick it up.

“Blair was your sacrifice, wasn't he? Like Abraham sacrificing Isaac, you cared for the boy but the greater good needed to be served.” I'd heard him say that phrase as he asked for forgiveness while he was in his car doctoring up the coffee that would have killed Blair. He startled when he heard me repeat the very words he'd used himself.

I let myself loom over him. He had to tilt his head upwards and I made sure to keep eye contact. “It was so convenient for you when Blair and Edwards had that falling out over his dissertation. Of course he would feel angry and, after he left Cascade, you kept track of him. Wasn't that hard to do, since his employers sent for his records and references. And you figured out how to stop Edwards from tormenting you. You came up with a plan, didn't you? You flew to New Mexico to see Blair , and you bought his Volvo. You knew he was struggling – all those jobs he couldn't keep. You offered to help him out by buying his car and you paid cash for it. No pesky checks that would show that you were now the owner. He signed over the title to you, and he trusted you to complete the transaction. But you never registered it to yourself. You hid that car, until the right opportunity came.”

I walked away from him and sat back down, taking my time, opening a file folder and pretending to read through it. Bergman uneasily watched me, and I finally pushed back away from the table and moved next to him, resuming my looming over him.

“On the afternoon of August 9, 2000, you drove your green Volvo to Rainer's campus. This was the car you had purchased in New Mexico from Blair Sandburg. You parked it illegally so that it would get a ticket and there would be proof that the car had been on campus. Blair Sandburg was the last owner of record, and you were setting him up for the police to consider him a suspect when you killed Chancellor Edwards.

Bergman was listening, sweat beading at his hairline.

“Later that same day you attended an evening meeting with Chancellor Edwards. The meeting ended at dusk, and since it was summertime, the campus was mostly deserted. You left in time to get to the Volvo, put on a curly, long-haired wig, and then let the car idle, waiting for Edwards to walk across the parking lot to her vehicle. You accelerated, driving straight at her. You hit her; you felt the impact from her body smashing into the car.”

I put my hand on his shoulder. “By rights, you should have backed up and run over her again, just to make sure she was dead. But you didn't, did you, Nathan. Planning a murder is one thing but actually doing it? Well, that's hard. Very hard. What happened shocked you and you just wanted to get away.”

I let go of him and he gave a tiny, almost imperceptible nod of his head. He liked this theme, liked how I was explaining that he wasn't a cold-blooded killer. All of this had been hard on him. Very, very hard.

“You knew that Blair probably wasn't in any real danger of being held responsible for the chancellor's death. Blair was moving around the country; he would be difficult for the police to find through the university because you made sure to destroy any documentation that he was continuing to contact Rainier. You hoped the case would go cold, that no leads would be developed. Then later you could get rid of the Volvo.”

His body language shifted, a small frown line developing between his eyes. I quickly amended my remarks. “Or, no, you wanted to keep the Volvo; after all, you'd paid good money for it and you could have it repainted, maybe even registered under a false title.”

He looked a little bewildered. I asked him a direct question then and waited for his answer. “Do you understand how to falsify a title? Or know who to contact for one?”

He shook his head, happy to have something he could truthfully deny. “No, I don't have any idea how one would go about something like that. Excuse me, Detective. I think maybe--”

I cut him off. He was starting to think about asking for a lawyer. Once he did and stated he didn't want to talk to us without one, our hands would be tied.

“Nathan. What about your side of the story? What did Edwards do to you? Blackmail?” His eyes flicked to the right. True, then. I wasn't surprised. The late, mostly unlamented Chancellor Edwards had always struck me as someone very willing to play fast and loose with ethics. When I remembered her actions in dealing with Blair – jumping on releasing his dissertation without his permission, firing him unjustly for not turning a blind eye to cheating and rape just so another university supporter would fork over cash – well, let's just say Karma can be a bitch.

“She blackmailed you. You didn't have a choice. You had to stop her, she was hurting Rainier. Blair wasn't there, so with his history of contention with her, you made him look like the guilty one. And it worked. You became chancellor; you pushed ahead with all those programs she wanted to veto.”

I sighed. “And then Blair called you and said he was thinking of moving back to Cascade. Everything you had worked for was in danger of being lost. You couldn't let that happen. You hated to do it, but Blair was now too big a liability. But you didn't want to watch him die. You couldn't shoot him or run him over with a car – not after that horrible experience with Edwards, feeling her body hit the car. You didn't want to be that close or to see blood.” I knew I was right about his motivations by the way his body language gave him away.

“You're a smart man, Nathan. You must have thought it out a long time ago, how using acrylamide could allow a person to kill someone. Just an academic exercise at first, but after Edwards started making your life hell, then you considered it for killing her. You didn't, though. The obvious problem of an autopsy would make you, someone in her close circle, and a chemist, perhaps a suspect. But Blair – now he was a drifter, a bum, and when he left Cascade and died hundreds of miles from here, probably the police wouldn't think it was murder; most likely they'd think he just died of sickness or drug abuse. They probably wouldn't even do an autopsy on him. And even if they did and considered that perhaps he'd been poisoned, despite nothing being found in his system, they wouldn't connect it with you, would they?”

I looked over at him sympathetically. “Removing Blair would keep him from telling the police, if they caught up to him, that he'd sold the car to you. Because the case hadn't been shut down yet from lack of progress, and you were so worried about everything, but now you wouldn't have to be, as long as Blair died.”

I laid a heavy hand on his shoulder. “It's over. Tell us in your own words what happened. We know that a guy like you would have to have a good reason for your actions. Don't you want the record to reflect the truth?”

Inside the observation room the scrape of a chair, footsteps, and a door handle being pushed down told me Joel was ready to join me on some pretext and push Bergman. I'd look like the sympathetic one and, when I told Joel to get out, Bergman would feel like I was on his side. That was the way it was supposed to go down. We'd see. Bergman was still in shock, but if he wised up, he'd demand a lawyer and shut up.

Joel opened the interrogation room door and it was showtime again.

 

~oo~oo~oo~oo

I trudged tiredly up to the bullpen. Blair's babysitter was chewing on a pencil, staring at her computer, when I walked over to her.

“Jimbo.”

“Connor.”

“Progress?”

“Some.”

“Meaning what exactly, mate?”

“He liked the themes; he was pretty close to breaking down and giving a statement admitting his guilt. Joel pushed him pretty hard and he was almost at the point of confiding in me after Joel left, but at the last moment he must have realized that he should shut up and he asked for a lawyer. Now it's up to the DA to see about a plea bargain. Bergman didn't confess to Edwards' murder, but at least we caught him red-handed attempting to murder Blair. We haven't gotten a judge to sign a search warrant for his house and grounds, but it shouldn't be a problem as soon as one wakes up. Bergman hasn't called anybody except his lawyer.”

I laughed. “He was a little surprised that things don't work quite the way they do on TV cop shows since his lawyer won't be charging down here to shelter him till at least the daylight hours.”

Yawning, I added, “Maybe we can find a connection between Bergman and the hit-men who were after Blair when we go over the guy's home and office records. Blair wants out of protective custody, but I'm not going to end it until we know that he's off the target list. Bergman must have a tie-in with the department here, since somebody had to have leaked Blair's whereabouts in Sweetwater, but damned if I can figure out how, or even why.”

Connor pointed to Simon's office. “You're dead tired. Why don't you go look in on Sandy, and get some sleep, too. Like you said, your birdie won't sing until after he's spoken to his lawyer, and that won't happen till after breakfast. I can take Sandy home with me later, if you're tied up with Bergman. You can come by my place and fetch him when you're done.”

I thought about her offer and shrugged. “Sounds good. Buzz Simon's extension if Bergman wants to talk.” I slapped her companionably on the back and went to Simon's door. Locked. I turned around and Connor was dangling the spare key to Simon's office from her hand.

“Think you'll be needing a little help there.” She unlocked the door and I opened it quietly. Blair was curled up on the couch, still deeply asleep.

Connor whispered, “I guess you can sleep in the captain's chair. See you in a couple of hours.”

She closed and locked the door and I looked at Simon's chair and then back at the couch. We both couldn't lie down on it comfortably, but I wanted to be close enough to Blair to touch him. I sat down on the end of it and Blair halfway woke up.

“Jim? What?”

I tugged at him till his head was on my lap, and I was reasonably comfortable. I stroked his hair and he fell back to sleep.

I joined him soon after, drifting off thinking about how wonderful it was going to be to have Blair home again.

 

~oo~oo~oo~oo


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written for Sentinel Thursday Challenge: Always the last to know. Beta'ed by the lovely and helpful T.Verano.

In my dream, I was walking through Cascade. I knew it was a dream because while I've got long legs, there was no way I was breezing past familiar landmarks that fast.

Blair had discussed what lucid dreaming was with me before, and I knew that was what I was doing. Well, it would be more accurate to say that he'd talked about the books he'd read on the subject and when he'd stopped to breathe I'd made grunting noises to show I'd been listening to him, while I'd been cooking or driving or doing any of the other mundane chores, or just dozing in bed or on the couch.

I liked to listen to Blair rattle on about stuff. For the most part it was soothing, kind of like listening to trains in the distance, or fog horns from the harbor. He could be annoying, sure, but unless it was something he really wanted to discuss, he was fine with changing the subject, or offering to give me a massage, or asking if I wanted to go down to the park with him and shoot some hoops.

So, since I was in charge of what was happening in my dream, I headed over to our neighborhood. I wanted to find Blair, and I figured he might be home already. I passed the neighborhood bookstore where Blair had regularly contributed to the owner's college fund for his kids, and then the small park where we would go for runs on the trails or Blair would shoot hoops and live out his fantasy about being a professional basketball player.

He was pretty good for a guy his height, and it always made me grin when he'd crow about getting past my longer arms to sink the ball through the hoop. He'd made sure to get an elbow in my ribs whenever I'd kidded him that it was handy that hobbits were so talented at throwing things.

He _was_ a whiz at pitching things accurately. I'd lost count of the number of times he'd hit some stupid criminal on the head with something he'd winged at the guy during a confrontation, usually while bullets were flying. He was also an excellent baseball player and sometimes had pitched for us when Major Crimes had been required to come up with a team for some recreational shindig. He was a natural shortstop, too, quick and agile and cute as he could be, scooping up ground balls and whirling to hurl them at first base or home.

Maybe Blair and I could join some community teams this year, play regularly. He'd like that, probably for a couple of reasons – enjoyable competitive exercise for one, and connecting with new people for another. He'd lost creditability within his academic world and had become out of step with our police friends. We'd talked about that on the last leg of our journey home. Well, to Cascade. It was home to me, but I wasn't sure if Blair considered it home anymore. All he'd said about that was he'd see how he felt after he was back. I was home, he said. Whither thou goest, and all that jazz. I'd had my arm slung around his shoulder at the time, and I pulled him in even closer to me. “Chief,” was all I'd said.

He was everything to me, but I knew that to be healthy we both needed other people in our lives. I was content to have a small circle of good friends and family, but Blair wasn't me. I was pretty sure that to feel satisfied with his life he needed to be more involved with community activities than he had been before I'd fucked things up and he'd left Cascade.

Blair was a people person, although he'd often told me that being an anthropologist meant walking a fine line between having empathy for the group you were observing and staying distant enough so that personal feelings didn't influence your documentation. And that was difficult to do when you were participating in people's daily lives. There were psychological effects on anthropologists immersed in a culture not their own, “going native” and “identity shifts,” he had said.

I didn't like it that Blair had considered all of us in Major Crimes as a cultural group he was there to figure out. Looking back, I had wanted him to be a part of my world, but on my terms, not his. After working with him on the Switchman case, I may have told him that he'd have to go to the academy like any other cadet, mostly to yank his long-haired hippie chain, but at the core, in hindsight, I'd meant it. I'd wanted him to be my partner, not my observer. I still wanted him for a work partner, but the Chief of Police had shot that dream down.

Blair would have been a good police officer, and a better detective, but it would have changed him. How could it not? Experiences matter. The ones I'd had in my life had shaped me. If Naomi had been a suburban mother, if Blair hadn't had the travel experiences and exposure to many world views growing up, would he even be interested in anthropology?

I usually dismissed thoughts like these as useless navel gazing. Our paths had crossed, we'd connected with each other, and then fucked up, but we'd figured out where we went wrong and we'd do it right this time. Why spend time speculating about how we might have missed knowing each other if our lives had been different?

Nature and nurture. Genetics and environment. What is and what could be. Genetically, I was a sentinel. However, my spirit guide had told me I had a choice. Somehow, I could turn those genes for enhanced senses right off. I'd done it in the past when I'd repressed them. Was Blair a guide because of genetics? Or was it because of how his life had been shaped by his experiences, his environment?

I didn't really care. I didn't have the same level of fascination for those kinds of questions that Blair did. What was important was that he was mine. It didn't matter much to me why.

I'd come to our street now in my dream, and I hurried, the scents of freshly baked cookies and bread wafting to me from Collette's.

I could stop there and snag a couple of huge, fresh-from-the-oven muffins, blueberry for Blair and a banana-nut one for me, and take them up to the loft since I was doing this lucid dreaming bit.

I decided against it. I was feeling a sense of urgency to find Blair. We could come back down to the bakery, and maybe I'd sweet-talk Blair into really indulging in a sugar fest. That incredibly decadent Chocolate Death cake maybe, or cheesecake. Actually, I'd probably haggle with Blair over the choices and by the time we were done, he'd have “convinced” me to settle for the muffin I'd wanted in the first place, but he wouldn't scold me about my unhealthy habits since I'd passed on the cheesecake for his sake.

It was so much fun to mess with him like that. In some ways it made me feel like a kid again, and it buffered me from the shit I dealt with on the job. Blair was fun. He came up with interesting things to do, and it was a gas to tease him or drive him wild with just the right way to touch him.

Fun. I recommended it. I couldn't wait to find him and engage in some again.

 

~oo~oo~oo~oo~

Even before I opened the door to the loft, I knew Blair wasn't there. The reassuring sound of his heartbeat was missing, but I could hear him faintly. He was singing. He didn't sound too bad, either. Apparently in my dream I'd arranged to have him sing on key. In the waking world, sometimes Blair could be a half step higher than the correct note, or a little flat. Didn't matter. As long as I didn't have a headache, I liked to hear him cut loose in the shower, or hum as he did chores or schoolwork.

The loft looked pristine. That was another clue that Blair hadn't been here. I didn't believe that a year of being away had changed him to the extent that he'd stopped being naturally messy. He'd do his share of the chores, and more, and he'd get around to picking up after himself, but that first invasion of any place usually resulted in his belongings scattered on top of counters and on the floor and flung over furniture before he went back and straightened things up.

I sort of missed how he'd so thoroughly inhabit the space of where he was, like marking his territory. Those last few weeks before he'd left Cascade, he'd been so careful not to leave his stuff lying around. I guess he'd been hoping to not give me a reason to blow up at him. At the time, I just saw it as more proof that he was withdrawing from me.

I'd been such an ass. Blair had been damned if he kept things neat, and damned if he didn't. I told myself once more not to ever let things between us get to that point again.

I was still aware that I was dreaming, but I couldn't make him show up in the loft, carrying beers for us to drink out on the balcony. Blair apparently marched to the beat of a different drummer, even when it was _my_ dream. Blair's humming started including phrases, and I closed my eyes.

One by one, except for hearing, I toned down my senses, I focused on the words I could hear softly from far away, and then, eyes shut, I turned and followed the music.

 

~oo~oo~oo~oo~

 _I had figured out where I was going to end up, and I decided that it would be all right. Weird, but okay. At least this time my journey into the spirit plane went smoothly. There were no vine barriers, no spirit guides waylaying me to give me advice. I cautiously allowed my senses -- smell, touch, and taste – to return to normal levels, and I kept heading towards Blair, walking down smooth paths and feeling a light breeze on my skin. It seemed important to keep my eyes shut, though. Maybe this was a trust walk thing. Years ago I'd called Blair my lodestar, and he was, in every way, and the sound of his voice would guide me to him and I would be fine._

”All the world over, so easy to see  
People everywhere just wanna be free  
Listen, please listen, that's the way it should be  
Peace in the valley, people got to be free.”

 _I'd never heard him warble this song before. He was just singing it over and over, like a mantra. I'd been smelling water, and I headed directly for it since I could also hear and scent Blair there. When I opened my eyes, Blair was sitting on a large rock at the edge of a small, clear pool, his legs dangling in the water, the foliage around him tinged with that spirit-plane blue hue. He stopped his seranade and looked up at me, a welcoming smile making him look beautiful._

 _“Hey, Jim, I was thinking about you.”_

 _“This is freaky, Chief.”_

 _He gave me an even bigger smile. “But cool. You don't look uptight... so are you handling this all right? Being in Blue Jungle Land? I haven't seen my spirit guide, or yours. Did you see them?_

 _“No. I was dreaming, and I was looking for you, but you weren't home. I could hear you singing so I followed the sound of your voice. What's with the song, anyway? It sounds like an oldie.”_

 _“Well, I was thinking about you and me telling Naomi that we're together, and I was wondering where she is right now and hoping that she's having a good time.”_

 _He patted the rock, wordlessly asking me if I wanted to sit down and join him. I untied my boots and undressed. Blair was naked, and I remembered him questioning why he never had on any clothes when he was in my dreamscape. Even before we became lovers, I'd kept him naked in the blue jungle. Obviously , the spirit world had been intent on nudging me into seeing how lovely he was. Seeing him dead from me shooting him in his wolf form had overridden that thought at the time. There was nothing to stop me from appreciating his fine body now, though. However, it seemed only polite to join him in being bare. It wasn't difficult to decide to strip down either, since excessive modesty was not one of my hang-ups. Besides, that pool of water looked enticing. I wanted to slip into its coolness and bring Blair with me._

 _I put my arm around him after I made myself comfortable. “Still haven't heard why you were singing that song, Chief.”_

 _“I was remembering some of the good times me and mom had together, like traveling through Europe and India, and those months we spent down in Cancun when I was seven. The area wasn't developed as much for tourism back then, so we lived pretty cheaply. We spent a lot of time on the beach and Naomi took me to see some of the Mayan ruins. I think maybe that's when I started getting interested in being an anthropologist. I wanted to learn more about how those ancient people had lived, and what had happened to their descendents.”_

 _“And the song?” Sometimes getting an answer out of Blair was like taking a detour off the interstate. You'd get to your destination eventually, but you'd take in a lot of unexpected scenery along the way._

 _“It's like a hippie lullaby; Mom used to sing it to me when I was really little, when I was getting sleepy or I was bored. She taught me to sing it along with her. It just popped into my head while I was thinking about her.”_

 _“How do you think she'll take having a cop for a son-in-law?”_

 _Blair chuckled. “She likes you, Jim. For a while, I was worried that she liked you too much. Do you have any idea how many friends felt the need to tell me how hot my mom was? She just sends out these vibes, and guys – women, too – just fall over themselves to do her favors, and they want her. She's never stayed too long with anybody, though. She's such a free spirit. Still, I'm glad that you two never got it on, because I'm pretty sure that she would have if you'd made a move for her. Now that would have been weird. It happens, though; I've talked to people who've shared lovers with a parent, and it's pretty messy to sort out.”_

 _I dropped a small kiss on his temple. “I think that some of the things that interested me most about your mother were the ways you two were alike and the ways you were different. If I'd met her instead of you, well, I might have taken her up on the flirting. Her pheromones are enticing, but they changed after we'd all spent some time together. Maybe she didn't know it on a conscious level, but I'm betting that subconsciously she decided I was off-limits.”_

 _He circled my waist with his arm and gave me a possessive hug. “Good. I don't like feeling angry with my mom. I've been working on ending the resentment I felt about her disregarding my wishes and messing with the diss. Being with you helps a lot. I have to let it go, and mostly I have. I'll keep working on it. Umm... she'll worry more about you getting hurt on the job, I think, once we tell her that we're life-partners. Oh, and about the stress that comes with being a cop? I think you can expect her to give you some advice for dealing with it.”_

 _I shrugged. “I'll listen to her, and who knows? She might have some good ideas. After all, she taught her son about that stuff, and he's almost always steered me right in the health and wellness department.”_

 _“Almost always?”_

 _“Two words, Chief. Niktabi root.”_

 _“What!?” He sounded a little indignant. “It helped with your cold, Jim.”_

 _“And it made me see a ghost. I'm not saying that it wasn't a good thing that I could help Molly pass on to the other side. Still, _you_ didn't know it was going to affect me like that, did you?”_

 _He laughed. “Jim, check your memory banks. You saw Molly in that abandoned building _before__ I gave you the Niktabi. You've got natural talent when it comes to the paranormal, man, and haven't you figured out that when it comes to you and your abilities, I've always been winging it? I've been making it up as we go. And telling you that is me following our relationship rules about being honest with each other. You didn't come with an instruction manual, and ancient myths can only carry a guy so far. I've always tried to do my best to help you, and I always will.” He started moving one foot in the water, and I bent my head and kissed him. His mouth opened under mine, an invitation to continue what I'd started.

 _“I know, Chief.” I slid into the water and found it was almost chin deep. “Hey, c'mon in. The water's fine.”_

 _He looked amused that I'd chosen to repeat what he'd told me in the hospital, after we'd joined in the spirit world and I'd brought him back from the dead._

 _“About time. And I'm not talking about us having sex. It's so great that you came here on your own.”_

 _He cocked his head a little and I knew what he was looking at. “My aura still bright and shiny and colorful, Little Shaman?”_

 _“Little... Jim, aside from the fact that it's kind of annoying being called 'little', that's how your spirit guide refers to me. You know what I think?”_

 _I didn't give him a chance to expound. Instead I pulled him into this pretty woodland pool and up close to me. He gave a surprised squawk, but then he put his arms around my neck and let me support him._

 _I started nuzzling his throat. He wrapped his legs around my waist and I could feel his cock start to harden._

 _“What do you think, Blair?” I whispered in his ear, before I gently bit his earlobe. I moved us to the other side of the pool, where the water only came up to my nipples._

 _“I think that you're more in tune with your spiritual self, Jim. That's why you could initiate coming here, instead of being hijacked by your spirit guide. And I think that I should kiss you now.” He sounded a little breathless and I loved that I could make him sound like that._

 _He followed through on that plan, and then turned the tables on me, licking and nuzzling a sweet spot under my jaw. My eyes closed in bliss, but then I felt things changing around me. The jungle scents disappeared, and I no longer felt the coolness of the water._

 _I opened my eyes. Blair and I were back in Simon's office, Blair between my legs and on top of me as we both sprawled on the couch. Blair's mouth was still on my neck, his body undulating against mine. God, he felt good, but I said gently, “Chief, we've got company.”_

He turned his head toward the door and his eyes went wide. “Oh, crap,” he said in the tiniest of whispers.

Simon and Megan stood in the doorway.

 

~oo~oo~oo~oo~

 

I felt my face go hot with embarrassment. Jeez, Jim and I had been caught making out in Simon's office, and Megan was smirking at me.

“Sandy... I'm going to want all the details.” I made a face at her; she covered her mouth, and I could see that she was trying not to laugh.

Simon had been eying us while we untangled ourselves. Jim stood up and I could see that he was still aroused, but my erection was fading away.

“Sir.”

Simon sighed. “So... you and the kid. How long, or were you dreaming that he was some red-headed woman?”

“I knew who he was, Simon.”

“So this isn't a one night stand kind of thing... Is it?”

“No. We're together.” Jim held out his hand and I stood up, the blanket sliding to the floor. I took his warm hand and he squeezed my fingers. “We were going to tell you over that steak dinner."

“Yeah, congratulations to the two of you. I wish you the best, and that includes you, Sandburg. I'm still expecting that steak, though. Consider it compensation for this _one time_ use of my couch.”

He smiled at us, and I felt relief course through me. It looked like Simon was going to be okay about us. I'd been worried that knowing Jim and I were lovers would change his opinion of us, that he'd be critical and condemning. Jim had told me that was nonsense, that after all the shit the three of us had been through together, Simon would accept that the two of us were lovers. We hadn't changed; we were still who we'd been, and Simon would be fine.

Simon stopped smiling, though, and walked over and sat down at his desk. Megan was just enjoying the show. I felt awkward as hell, but Jim was calm.

“Connor, take Sandburg with you. Find him something to eat, but stay in the building for now. And shut the door on your way out,” Simon ordered. He stuck a cigar in his mouth and chewed on it while I let go of Jim's hand and put my shoes on.

Simon waved Jim to a seat. He laid his cigar on the desk, then looked at me and winked. “You know, I don't know if I should offer my sympathies or congratulations to you, Blair. Jim's been a bear since you've been gone and I think I've finally figured out why. And don't ditch Connor. You're still under police protection until we finish up with Bergman.” He frowned at me. “I want your word, Blair.”

I walked over to where Jim was seated, and looked Simon in the eyes. “Okay, yeah, I'll stick with Megan. Thanks, Simon.” I decided _what the hell_ and bent over and kissed Jim goodbye. “Come and get me when we can go home. Bye, Jim. Bye, Simon.” Simon didn't look shocked or disgusted, which was a relief. He just looked at me with a combination of amusement and disbelief... like he often did when I'd dumped something on him.

“Sandburg, stop smooching your boyfriend and get a move on. Ellison, I think you need a refresher on proper protocol.” He stuck his cigar back in his mouth and clamped down while I glanced at Jim in sympathy. I knew that cigar chewing maneuver from my days as an observer. Simon was revving up for giving a dressing down.

Megan ushered me out and shut the door firmly, a huge grin on her face. I winced as I caught Simon's voice rising to bellowing level as he asked Jim what was he thinking by not disclosing that he had a personal relationship with a witness and, by the way, when had the two of us switched from friends to lovers?

Megan pulled me away from Simon's door. “C'mon, mate. Jim'll have to take his lumps, and I haven't given you a proper hug yet.” She drew me into one that almost cracked my ribs, and it felt so good.

“I've missed you, Sandy. Worried about you, too. Why didn't you let me know how things were? And you and Jim – I want to hear all about it. Let's head to the break room and see about some coffee. I'll call Henri and tell him to bring us something good for brekkie. Not your green drink, though; I agree with your boyfriend that it's nasty stuff. I could fancy those big pancakes with maple syrup we had that time; what about you? Or eggs and sausages?”

It was early still, just seven o'clock. I walked out of the bullpen into the elevator with Megan. Some people were getting ready to go home, but it wasn't time for most of the detectives to be at work. I felt odd. I'd been glad to see Simon and Megan, but I felt uncomfortable walking around the P.D. I'd mentally said my goodbyes to this place and I knew I didn't belong here anymore. There wasn't any chance of fitting myself back into my old place as an observer. This was my past, not my future. My future was getting his ass chewed at the moment, and I hoped that Simon wouldn't be too hard on him.

So, coffee and breakfast. After that, I guessed twiddling my thumbs was on the menu until Jim and I could leave.

~oo~oo~oo~oo~

 

“Jim, I'm pulling you off this case as the lead detective. Joel's been working with you on interrogating Bergman, so he can take over. You can stay on the sidelines to help him, just be damned sure it's his name on the reports. I'm not going to risk that some slimy lawyer can discredit the evidence because you're boinking our main witness. Sure, we've got Bergman on tape stating he bought Sandburg's car, and several people saw him hand the poisoned coffee to Sandburg, but I'm not willing to take any chances. Joel can re-interview Blair, go over the same points that you established when you interrogated him in Tennessee, and we'll go with that version for the official documentation.”

He took a moment to chew some more on his now soggy cigar, and I did a quick check on Blair's whereabouts, only listening with one ear to the rest of Simon's lecture when he started back up.

Blair was drinking coffee with Connor in the break room and apparently, from her comments, waiting for H to show up with breakfast. They weren't alone in there, so she wasn't trying to get Blair to spill his guts about him and me. She would try later, though. One thing I'd learned about Connor was that she was just as stubborn as me, and three times more curious about her friends' relationships than I'd ever be. Blair would try to appease her without giving away anything he thought I'd object to, but I was okay, well, sort of okay, with the heart to heart she and Blair would be having. Connor being given material for teasing or blackmail was inevitable when Blair started spilling the beans about us, and anyway, she'd just seen us making out on Simon's couch. She had the goods on us just from that.

I considered Connor a good friend, somebody who I trusted to have my back, but Blair was like a sibling to her. He maybe didn't recognize that, since he'd never grown up with a brother or a sister, but I could see it in how they related to each other. And he was definitely the little brother to her big sister act. She'd cheerfully bully him along for his own good, and he'd do what she wanted, even while complaining about it. He wasn't above teasing her, either, although that time he'd draped her desk with pink streamers, replaced her pens with pink ones, and swapped her desk calendar for one covered with pink hearts had backfired on him. Connor had given him a big kiss on the cheek, thanked him loudly for being so considerate, and had draped her pink fur jacket over her chair before she sat down and started on the inevitable stack of paperwork that decorated every desk in the bullpen.

Connor had embraced her love of all things pink since day one in Cascade, and since she could kick the butts of half the P.D., nobody cared to give her any grief about it.

She'd tried to talk to me about Blair after he'd left Cascade, but I'd cut her off every time. Eventually she'd stopped asking if I'd heard from him and quit ordering me to tell him to phone her when he did get back in touch with me. I imagined she was going to have a few words for him about not calling her this past year. Maybe I'd try to speak to her first, let her know that I'd fucked Blair up so badly that when he left he couldn't handle anything to do with me, including talking to our other friends. She could blow up at me for being an asshole, and maybe spare Blair from feeling guilty.

Would Blair appreciate me doing that for him, or would he think I was being overbearing and that I should let him face the music?

I sighed. I was pretty sure that Blair would tell me that I had to let him experience the consequences of his actions, and it had been his choice to not contact Connor or our other friends. Probably Connor would be happy to tell me I'd been an asshole, though.

“If I could have your attention, Detective?” Only Simon could couch that as a question which translated to “I'm one step away from assigning you to school crossing duty.”

“Sorry, Captain.” He'd just finished reaming me out for not telling him I'd been involved with Blair before he'd sent me to Tennessee. I hadn't wanted to go, and if I'd been thinking straight, I probably would have told him about us, just to get out of seeing Blair again. I'd have to ask Simon sometime if he'd ordered me to drive halfway across the country to Sweetwater because he knew Blair and I had unfinished business. It felt like it at the time, but apparently interrogating a friend about his involvement in a murder didn't cross the line the way interrogating a lover about said involvement did. At least not in Simon's mind.

“Get with Joel, explain why he's now the lead detective and why he needs to talk to Sandburg.” He glanced at his watch. “I've got to leave to meet with the division heads and assistant chiefs for the weekly briefing. I'll be glad to say that we like Bergman for the Edwards case and where we are on nailing his ass. I think, though, that we'll be canceling the stakeouts at the various sites we set up to nab any hit-men who accepted a contract to take Sandburg out. We've gotten nothing from any of the leaks to the different departments, and now with Bergman in custody we can find out from him how he knew Sandburg was in Tennessee. Hell, maybe we can get him to pony up the names of his contacts.” Simon put on his coat and picked his cigar back up. I knew he'd light it once he was outside.

“I'll contact Findley back in Sweetwater and see if those two bozos who were after Blair have coughed up anything else useful about 'The Man' who hired them.”

I stood up myself. I held out my hand to Simon, knowing that while a hug from Blair would be reluctantly tolerated, under the heading of “Sandburg and his touchy-feely ways,” Simon wouldn't cut me the same slack. Not unless the Jags did something spectacular while we were at a game or some other male bonding ritual had occurred that made close personal contact permissible. Well, that's what Blair would say, at any rate.

Simon shook my hand, a warm grip that promised me support should I need it; my friend for the moment, not my captain.

He turned before he opened the door and gave me a level gaze. “You treat that boy right, Jim. But just so I'm clear, in the future do not let me be the last to know about things that involve my men. And see about adding him to your insurance. Vera can give you a hand with the forms. I'll be returning in about three hours, and you or Joel can update me then.”

He left the bullpen after conferring with Rhonda about his schedule for the day, and I headed to where Joel had holed up for the rest of last night. I had some explaining to do, but I wasn't worried that he would take badly the news that Blair and I were together. He'd liked Blair from the first time he'd met him, during the Switchman case, and he was too kind a man to reject Blair, and by extension me, even if homosexuality wasn't condoned by his church.

So far this coming out thing was working out okay. Now if we could get this case wrapped up that would be swell, so Blair and I could go home and collapse on our bed.

Fool around a little before drifting off to sleep. Fuck each other senseless when we woke up.

I wanted to see how Blair was doing, so I did a little long distance snooping. He was shoveling pancakes into his mouth, but stopping every so often to quiz H about the soon-to-be-born baby. I followed Simon's directive when I walked by Human Resources and added Blair to my life and health insurance. I was a little amused to see Vera's eyebrows rise as high as they did. Then I went to let Joel know he'd just been promoted to lead detective on our case.

~oo~oo~oo~oo~


	4. Chapter 4

Henri dumped his last pancake onto my foam platter. “Here, Hairboy. I need to cut back on calories and you, my man, need to take in a few more.”

I shook my head. “I'm full.” At least they hadn't been banana pancakes. My head was hurting a little but I was glad that my fever hadn't reappeared; I was sick and tired of being sick and tired.

Henri gave me a whap on the arm before he got up and headed for the door.

“See you around, Blair. Don't be such a stranger now that you're back in town. And, uh... call me if something doesn't turn up for you, I mean, if you can't get a real job. My great-uncle is part owner of a trucking business and I could maybe check and see if he could use another driver. Once you're not sick anymore, of course. Although I know you could do better. You should be working at a museum or being some kind of cultural know-it-all guy at some big business, not driving a truck for a living.”

“Thanks, man. And I'll check back with you if things don't work out for me on the job front. I'm afraid a lot of job possibilities got tanked thanks to the crappy letters Edwards sent out to the places I'd applied to before, when I was still living in Cascade.”

“You planning on staying this time?” Henri said it casually, mildly interested in the answer. We'd drifted – no, _I_ had drifted away from my friends at the station, and I hadn't tried to build any new connections after the police one was severed. Henri would enjoy the occasional phone call, the occasional invite to a party or a barbecue, and would reciprocate, if he and his wife decided to add me to the list of people to call for get-togethers. I didn't really expect a lot of social time with them, though, since they were going to be new parents very soon. From what I'd seen with some of my other friends, their focus was going to be on the change in their family, and they naturally would gravitate to spending more time with friends with small children, too, and family members who wanted to get to know the new baby.

“I'll be with Jim. So, yeah. I'll be in Cascade. Hey, call me when the baby's born, okay? Let me know how mom and baby are doing? You, you'll be over the moon, I know. A new life, man. Being parents is going to change everything, wait and see.” I smiled at him, and he gave a little wave before he left the breakroom. Really, the breakroom was a little kitchen, with a microwave, and a stove, oven, and refrigerator – and the most important appliance of all, the coffee pot.

I got up and poured myself another cup. It was really crappy coffee and put to shame the reputation Cascade and the West coast had for supplying decent, flavorful brews. There was a reason Simon kept his own caffeine stash and machine in his office. But I'd had lots worse this last year and I felt nostalgic for honest to God lousy cop coffee, victim as it always was to budget cuts.

Megan had headed to the ladies' room after polishing off her pancakes and sausages, asking Henri to keep me company. Guess Henri hadn't realized that what she was really asking was for him to babysit me. Well, I had given Simon my word to stay put, and anyway, I didn't have anywhere to go, not without Jim. It wasn't like I still had my keys to the loft, or even a vehicle to drive, or for that matter, bus money. My wallet and money and star necklace would remain locked up until the tests came back to show that they weren't contaminated by the chemical Bergman had added to my coffee.

I took my coffee mug, which had a cracked handle and had the logo of a Cascade bank on it, back to the table and sat down. I poked at the pancake, but I wasn't interested in finishing it. Everybody I met lately kept wanting to feed me. I knew I'd lost some pounds but I didn't think it made me into a skeleton. Was I giving off waif vibes or something? Crap, that was embarrassing, if I was tripping people's “help the helpless” button. I wasn't helpless. The sooner I got a job the better, to combat any impression people had that I was in need of charity.

Yesterday's paper was lying on the small counter, and I snagged it, removing the help wanted section.

There were some social services jobs listed, several with private non-profit agencies and a few with the state, but I'd applied to all of those places before I'd left town and had been told, after my references were checked, that my services weren't needed.

Thank you, Chancellor Edwards.

I could try for a business-related job, something with marketing and research. I'd given it a shot the last time I'd been job hunting in Cascade, until I'd given up and settled for tending bar and waiting tables at The Meeting Place. I'd run into the same problem with my references as I'd had with the social service jobs, but now maybe I had a chance.

I could call Jack Kelso and brainstorm my options with him. He'd enjoy running a recon on any business I thought might hire me and passing along what he learned. My reference letters shouldn't trigger outright rejection anymore, but I was going to have get things cleared up at Rainier first so that those damning extra letters would stop being sent out. Jack could help me there, too. After what Bergman and Edwards had done, the University would surely accept my grievance and maybe something could be worked out to let me finish my Ph.D. I had tons of data on sensory information and on police culture. I could pull something out of my academic hat.

If I did decide to sue the university, though, for allowing my intellectual property to be distributed without my permission, I'd have to cave if they even hinted they would drag my mother into it . Naomi signing my name to Berkshire Publishing's forms had given Rainier the upper hand in that particular lawsuit, and I couldn't let my mom get into trouble.

The breakroom door opened but it wasn't Megan or Jim who walked in. The detective glanced my way and then dismissed me. He got himself some coffee and settled at the table with the rest of the paper.

“Hi, Michael. How have things been for you? Are you still working in Homicide? You still into doing the crossword?”

He frowned at me. “Why are you here, Sandburg? I thought you'd been limited to public areas of the P.D. Do I need to call some uniforms up here to escort you off the premises?”

I held out my hands. “I'm legit. I'm a witness in a case and I'm supposed to wait here.”

He made a sound of disgust, then flipped through the pages of the paper until he came to the crossword section.

Detective Michael Sams and I had been friendly at one time. He'd ask me crossword questions that had him stumped, and we'd finish the puzzle off together.

“Soooo.... Sams glared at me and I trailed off, abandoning the effort to make polite small talk.

“Keep your lying trap shut around me, or I'll shut it for you. I'm on my break, and I don't intend to waste any of it on a punk like you.”

Okay. Guess I could cross him off my dance card. There'd been a lot of hard feelings about me when it looked like I'd been trying to cash in on Jim's abilities, and then when I said I'd lied about all of that. The news that I had been offered a place at the Academy and pretty much guaranteed a detective's shield had enraged a lot of the P.D. I didn't need my Ph.D to see why – I'd betrayed a closed society, one that had granted me certain privileges, and then I was going to hop, skip, and jump over the usual procedures in order to be given a high status. To most cops that stank of corruption.

Sams considered me a traitor, and the thing was that I couldn't really explain why I wasn't.

It sucked being despised by people I'd liked. I wished that Jim and I could just go home now.

I decided that standing outside in the hallway qualified as staying put.

I washed out my coffee cup and took the want ads with me when I left the breakroom. Megan was down the hall, talking with Joel, and she waved me over.

“Sandy, I'll see you later. Joel needs to re-interview you, and I'm dying to get some sleep. Give me a call later, if you like. I still haven't gotten the juicy details about what possessed you to hook up with Captain Cranky; although, I think his mood seems to be improved since he towed you back to Cascade. And I don't think I mentioned it to you, or maybe Jim did, but I'll be leaving the week before Christmas to go back home.”

“For a holiday or for good?” She'd stayed much longer than her original posting had been set up for.

She reached out and smoothed my hair. “For good. My Mum isn't doing so well, and she could use a hand. My brothers are bloody useless when it comes to that sort of thing.” She kissed me on the cheek. “You're always welcome to come and visit, both you and that big lug of a boyfriend you've saddled yourself with. And call me when you're done here, if Jim can't get away. You can get some sleep at my place.”

She walked down the hall and I felt another piece of what had anchored me to Cascade float away. Still. Someday Jim and I could go and see her in Australia. We'd check out different varieties of Australian beer in their native habitat and see if they lived up to their reputations. Hang out on the beach, and man, I'd always wanted to see Ayers Rock.

I'd miss her, though. I felt like I'd had all this time last year to stay in touch and I'd squandered it. God, hindsight is so clear.

Joel said, “C'mon, Blair. Jim's been pulled as the lead detective; Captain Banks wants me to redo all of your interviews so that during the trial Bergman's lawyers can't get the evidence thrown out because of the relationship between you and Jim.”

He put his hand on my arm and started shepherding me toward the elevator.

“Joel?”

“Hmmm?”

“Are you cool with Jim and me being more than partners? I mean, this is kind of awkward and if you're not okay, well, okay, but I'd kind of like to know so I don't do anything to make you feel even more not okay. Okay?”

Joel gave a low chuckle. “Blair, you sure can rattle on. But we're okay. My second cousin is gay, and I haven't disowned him. I think we're all God's children and that he doesn't make mistakes. So don't worry. I knew a long time ago that you loved Jim. I didn't know you loved him in a gay way, but who am I to tell people not to love each other in the way that seems best to them. If you have a ceremony or a wedding, I'd be honored to attend.”

“Thanks, Joel. I appreciate what you just said. Jim will, too, I know. Where is he, anyway?”

We entered the elevator and Joel hit the button for the third floor, where the interrogation rooms were housed. “Jim's making some follow-up calls and checking with the ADA about the subpoenas to search Bergman's office and residence. Hopefully, we can find something to lead us to that old car of yours. The attempted murder on you is pretty clear-cut, but to make the case really stick for the Edwards murder, we could sure use finding that car. There might even be forensic evidence still. Jim's pretty sure Bergman didn't destroy the car, just hid it away.”

“Bergman's lawyered up, right?”

“Yes. I really thought Jim had him on the ropes and ready to confess but then he got smart and quit talking. His lawyer should be stopping by sometime this morning. Maybe then Bergman will cut a deal in return for a confession.”

“Did he say anything about me? About hiring hit-men to kill me?”

“He shut up before Jim got that information out of him. Hang in there, Blair. It won't be too much longer till you don't have to have police protection. And you won't try to ditch me, will you? I'd really appreciate it if you didn't. The last time you snuck away from me during protective custody it took a long time for me to live down not being able to keep track of one little anthropologist.”

Joel was joking, of course. I hoped he was joking. I didn't want to think that I'd set him up for being jeered at when I'd tricked him before and left police protection. “I promise, Joel.”

I wasn't going to mention that Jim had handcuffed me, at times even to himself, to keep me from leaving him. Considering that we were lovers now, it might be seen as a kind of sex-bondage kink thing when it had been a purely practical maneuver on Jim's part. At least I didn't think there was anything too kinky about it. Maybe I should check with Jim about that.

We left the elevator and entered a room down the hall, and Joel gestured me to a seat. He started up the recording equipment and then sat down across from me.

“State your name, please.”

~oo~oo~oo~oo~


	5. Chapter 5

I dry swallowed my antibiotic and debated wandering over to Rhonda's desk to talk to her again, but decided not to bother her. I knew she was trying to work, although she'd been nice to me the last two times I'd stopped by her desk. Instead I slouched a little lower in Jim's chair and eyed his computer. I probably shouldn't touch it. It was no doubt on the long list of things Blair Sandburg was forbidden to do whilst on the grounds of the police station. 

I decided that I didn't care. I was bored. Very,very bored. I'd been that way ever since Joel had deposited me in the bullpen after we'd finished going over my testimony again. I'd tried to observe the people around me with an anthropological mindset, but that attempt had fallen flat. I just wasn't in the mood to do it. 

Remembering that I'd wanted to look up that quote by Nelson Mandela, the one about coming back to the world you'd left, I turned on Jim's computer. Then I put in his user name and password.

Crap. He'd changed his password. I attempted to hack in for a while, but I wasn't getting anywhere. I was getting ready to call Jim and get it when Simon walked into the bullpen, stopped in front of me, and looked pointedly at the computer. 

I shrugged. “I need something to do. I was going to surf the web for now, but Jim's picking up the subpoenas and I can help check the phone records or bank statements.”

Joel walked over to us, carrying printouts. “I heard what Blair said. We could use his help, Simon. Jim had the subpoenas faxed to Bergman's phone companies and bank and they're faxing everything here.” He motioned with the forms. “I just got the home phone records.”

Simon blew out his breath, and he actually looked like he was considering Joel's request, but in the end he turned me down.

“Sorry, Sandburg. I wish you could help, but at the meeting today it was strongly reiterated to me that you were not to aid, observe, or be 'hanging around the investigation' anymore. They had to admit, though, that you acting as bait yesterday was crucial to advancing the case. I thought Sullivan was going to choke when I gave you the credit for coming up with the idea.” 

He rolled his eyes and I could see his resemblance to Daryl. “I was ordered to end the stakeouts, but as I told Jim earlier, I was going to pull those anyway. There weren't any takers for our planted information. It was a good idea, though, Blair.” He landed one of his big hands on my shoulder and squeezed. 

Joel shifted the printouts in his hands, drawing Simon's attention. “I can't give you Sandburg, but I'll assign someone to help you go through the records.” He glanced around the bullpen and stopped when he spotted Henri with his feet up on his desk, yakking on the phone. 

“Brown can do the phone records. When are you going to interview Bergman again?” 

“He's conferring with his lawyer at the moment. I was waiting to see if his lawyer advised him to try for a plea. If he still won't cooperate, then I thought I'd give him another go, bring up how he can protect his family from some of the publicity by taking a deal. If he doesn't confess by the time Jim swings by, he can stew on it while we execute the search warrants on Bergman's office and home. ” 

Joel glanced at me, an apology written all over his kind face, then addressed Simon. “I know Jim wants to take Blair along, but I'll remind him that he can't.”

Simon turned to me, a warning in his eyes. “Brown can take over your protection. Just stay here in the bullpen, okay? If you need the facilities or to go to the breakroom Brown is to accompany you. Do you understand me here, Blair? I repeat, do not lose your protection.”

“I _said_ I wouldn't, Simon. But... can I use a computer to do non-police stuff? I could do some job hunting, maybe. Or look at porn.”

Simon's lips twitched but he slapped his serious face back on.

“Sorry. People might go to the division head or one of the assistant chiefs if they were to spot you using P.D. equipment. Remember what happened before when Jim had you riding with him, even though you kept your ass parked in his vehicle?”

“After my interdiction, you mean?” Wow, Blair. Way to sound bitter. Maybe I should go hide in a closet and try some meditation.

“Look, I don't want to have to write Jim another reprimand or have Sullivan threaten to bring you up on obstruction of justice charges again. You're going to have to stay here for now. I was able to keep you in protective custody until we get some idea from Bergman about any more hit-men out there. Jim will take you to a safe house when he's freed up. Or I can send you over to Connor's place. She offered.”

“Megan needs her sleep. Don't call her, okay? I'll wait for Jim.” I wasn't at my best here and I know I didn't sound very thankful. I made an effort to sound more pleasant. “Umm... I have an idea. Can I ask Jack Kelso to stop by and talk to me? If he's not tied up, that is. He already knows I'm in Cascade. If he can come, I'll ask him to bring his laptop.”

Jack had worked with the police before and Simon knew him. Jack had told me to give him a call, and I didn't think he was just making polite noises. Besides, I valued his advice. He always knew the political issues at the university, and I wanted to enlist his help in refiling my grievance. He'd know which arms could be twisted. I wanted the university to agree to my completing a dissertation, without any fees tacked on. Getting hired there was not going to happen. Just like at the P.D., there was a point where the negative energy of hanging on outweighed any positive gains. It was time to move on. I'd known that before I'd left Cascade. 

If Jack agreed to help, then I'd ask him to be a reference for me. I should have mentioned it to him before, but Nathan's offer to provide a recommendation had made it seem unnecessary. Jack and I could check out some of the companies that listed positions in the help wanted section. If I ended up working for a business, I wanted to make sure I'd been hired on at an ethical one. 

If they'd hire an admitted fraud, that is. Even if he did have a glowing letter of reference.

~oo~oo~oo~oo~

Henri shot me a reproachful look when I entered the bullpen.

“Jim, babe, how's about I go along as Joel's sidekick for searching Bergman's digs, and you trawl through his phone records.” He dropped the pout and smirked at me instead. “You could hang out with your honey.” 

So H knew about me and Blair. The grapevine was alive and well. Good to know. I gave H back what might have passed as a smile. Not that I was concerned about him. He'd be cool. Well, except if he could pull some kind of prank on us he would, like taping lube to my computer monitor or putting on a screen saver that said “Ellison and Sandburg sitting in a tree, K I S S I N G.”

“Yeah, yeah, Sandburg and I are together. Pass the word, but remind the gossips that I'm a mean son-of-a-bitch when I get cranky. And anybody giving Sandburg a hard time is going to make me cranky.”

H pushed up out of his chair. He slung an arm around my shoulders and hugged me. “Relax, bro. Blair told me a little while ago, when he got handed off to me to babysit. Seriously, all kidding aside, you two have always had a vibe. About time you acted on it. If you want me to pass the word, I will, and I'll mention that Major Crimes takes care of its own.” 

He stepped away but managed to plant his elbow in my ribs as he did. “And shee-it, Jim. You been one cranky mother for a while now.” The smirk re-emerged on his face, his brown eyes looking mischievous. “You tell Hairboy that we'd all take it as a favor if he made sure you got some on a regular basis, so's your grumpy ass is a little more pleasant to be around.”

I sighed. “Sorry, Henri. I know I've been an asshole. I'm pretty lucky that Sandburg agreed to put up with me.”

“Amen to that. And he didn't do so bad himself.” He pointed to Simon's office. “He's in there, with that guy from Rainier. Simon told him he could use it, easier than parking the guy's wheelchair up at your desk, and also for some privacy. Simon had to meet with the other department heads about the budget. Now, talk about cranky. There's nothing like a budget meeting to put our Cap'n in a sour mood.”

I already knew where Blair was, but I'd outed myself enough today with the gay news. I didn't need to add the sentinel stuff into it, too.

H caught my arm again. “Hey, Jim, I was serious about swapping jobs. Maybe if Hairboy could help, like he used to, it would go a lot faster, but Simon won't let him. Wouldn't let him use the computer and hardly even the phone. Said there were eyes watching, and mouths ready to pass along that Blair was doing police work again, and it would just heap more trouble on the kid.”

I shook my head. “Sorry. Joel needs me along, and I'm meeting up with him in a few minutes. But I'll give you a hand after the search, okay?”

He made a pouty face again, and I shrugged my shoulders before walking over to Simon's door.

I just wanted to check on Blair, make sure he was feeling okay, and maybe slip him a little tongue. It would have to hold us until we could hopefully go home, or at least to a safe house.

~oo~oo~oo~oo~

I was smiling the whole way to Bergman's house, and had to make myself focus when Joel brought up the case.

Life was good. Blair and Jack had hammered out a new grievance about Blair's treatment by Rainier staff, and it was a doozy. If those assholes didn't give in and allow Blair to finish his diss and get his doctorate, then I'd eat my Jags cap. 

Blair hadn't been running a fever, although he'd admitted his head still hurt a little. He'd promised to take some Tylenol if it got any worse. He and Jack were going to spend some time researching possible jobs, and Jack had presented him with a letter of reference. I'd read it; it was a very well written document, extremely flattering about Blair, who had blushed when I told Jack he'd gotten it right.

Jack had tactfully decided that he'd take a bathroom break, and had wheeled himself out of Simon's office. I'd locked the door, made sure the blinds were down, and then I'd smooched Blair until he had been hard and panting. I'd patted him on the cheeks and run my finger over his kiss-swollen lips and then, just for the hell of it, I'd kissed him again. 

He'd looked flushed and lovely and I'd stared at him so long that he'd finally muttered, “Gee, Jim. Take a picture, it'll last longer.” 

“I'd love to have a picture of you looking like this. I'd keep it in my wallet to remind me that you're mine. I'm not going to screw us up this time, Blair.”

He'd kissed me then, sweet and loving, and not the down and dirty kisses I'd given him. 

“When can we go home, Jim? ”

“I'm not sure. Joel and I are going to toss Bergman's place. He wants me to figure out if Bergman's wife is lying to us, and to see if I notice anything he might miss during the search. It's probably too much to hope that Bergman's got the Volvo in his garage, but you never know. People can be stupid, especially if they think there's no way they can be caught. After that, we're going to search his office.”

Blair had pushed himself away from my arms and stepped back a few paces. “You told Joel about your senses? Jim? Why would you do that?”

“I haven't _told_ him anything, but Joel's a smart man. He figured out the score a while ago. Remember when he wanted to take the same special classes that I had, so he would become a more efficient detective, too? He's been watching me for ages, and, Blair, he never believed you were a fraud. He's found ways of letting me know that. We've had an understanding for a while now. If he thinks I can help, he'll ask me to check things out with him.”

Blair had gotten a faraway look in his eyes and dropped back down on the couch, next to a laptop; Kelso's, I'd guessed. He'd opened his mouth, and with a long-practiced response, I'd said, “Later, Chief.” He'd narrowed his eyes and I'd known I'd be answering his questions in a lot more detail -- but later. I'd gotten out my cell phone and dropped it in his lap.

“Keep it. If you need me, call Joel and I'll call you back. This way nobody can complain that you're using police equipment.” 

“Good idea. And Jim, do you have an extra key to the loft, in case I get freed up before you do? I can take a bus home, or maybe H can drop me off, if we get the all clear and you're still tied up. I... I don't really want to hang out here if I don't have to, I mean, I've caught up with everybody, but they're busy, and I'm not, you know what I mean?”

“Sure, Blair. Actually, I have your old key.” I'd pulled out my key ring and worked his loft key free, handed it to him, and watched him shove it in his jeans pocket. 

Then I'd yanked him up from the couch for one last kiss, leaving him looking a little debauched as I'd pushed him back down. It had been either besmirch Simon's couch again, or leave the hell now. I'd had to adjust my pants before I'd unlocked the door.

I'd left then and had given H the finger when he'd smirked knowingly at me. As I'd walked down the hall I'd listened to Blair whisper “goodbye” and that I'd better finish what I'd started when we went home this afternoon.

On the drive over, Joel and I'd worked on the list of questions he planned on asking Bergman's wife. The woman had been horrified when she'd been notified about her husband's arrest, and kept insisting that there must have been some mistake. Joel had questioned her after Bergman's arrest, and hadn't come away with much. She had refused to let the police search the premises last night; now she didn't have a choice – we had a search warrant.

~oo~oo~oo~oo~

The patrol car backed out of Bergman's driveway and I gave them a wave of thanks. They were taking Bergman's files and computer back to the station, to be logged in as evidence and gone over in more detail.

“Well, let's hope we find something useful at Rainier.”

Joel nodded his agreement, and I started up the truck.

The search at Bergman's house hadn't given us anything we could use. There was no green Volvo stashed away in his garage, and he didn't have any outbuildings where he might have hidden it, just a small tool shed. 

We'd looked through his desk, file cabinet, and computer for evidence of any payments or communication with the middle man who'd arranged for those two assholes back in Sweetwater to try to kill Blair. We hadn't found anything, or any hint of where he'd stashed the Volvo. Joel wondered if it wasn't sitting at the bottom of a lake, but I didn't think Bergman would have done that. Hiding it, not destroying it, seemed more in line with his personality. 

Joel fastened his seat belt. “You know, I'm surprised Mrs. Bergman talked to us as much as she did. I don't think she was lying, except about how her husband felt about Edwards. He probably vented to her sometimes. There anything you feel I missed, Jim?” 

“She wasn't lying about never having heard anything about Blair or his car. And yeah, Bergman did not consider Edwards a good friend and boss. She was lying when she told us he did. She doesn't think he's guilty, though. She honestly expects us to find the real killer and clear her husband. She's not seeing us as the enemy, not yet.” 

Mrs. Bergman, a small obese woman, expensively dressed, had become upset when we'd identified ourselves as police officers and shown her the search warrant. She'd cried several times while Joel gently questioned her about her husband's behavior.

Joel got her talking about her house, which was damn near a mansion, and how she and Bergman had met. She was happy to talk about that instead of answering questions about Chancellor Edwards, and we learned that she came from a very wealthy family and that she and Nathan had met during college. Her father had insisted on a prenuptial agreement; Bergman would lose everything if they divorced. She'd been puzzled that Joel wanted to know about “those silly financial things” but she answered him honestly.

Joel had asked her if she ever had concerns that her husband would kill her, but she'd protested that he loved her and he would never do anything to hurt her. 

She'd told the truth, according to the Ellison lie detector system. She didn't think Bergman was any kind of threat to her. 

I drove past the other fancy houses on this road. I was glad that my father hadn't chosen to exhibit his wealth in the grandiose fashion these home owners had. His house was big, and expensively furnished, but it wasn't the overblown mansion these places were. My old man considered it vulgar to advertise your wealth like that. I turned my attention back to Joel.

“If Bergman doesn't cooperate and do a deal pretty soon, and we make our case against him, you know he's going down for a capital murder charge for Edwards' death, as well as the attempted murder on Blair.”

Joe shifted on the bench seat. The truck seat wasn't as comfortable as his car would have been, but his vehicle had been needed by his wife today, so we'd gone with my truck.

Joel shifted again. “Maybe by now his lawyer has given him a reality check, explained all about death row at Walla Walla, and he's ready to spill his guts. He could probably get out of this with twenty-five years, if he does a deal. But if we find that car first, and the evidence shows he hit Edwards, then he'll have his choice – lethal injection or hanging. If he doesn't die from a heart attack before that. Prison is rough on older prisoners.” 

Cynically, I thought that the prison system would be just as happy not to have him stay until he was an elderly, frail prisoner who would use up a lot of resources. Probably let him out on parole, instead of paying his hospital bills. 

Joel looked thoughtful. “I'm thinking that in order for Bergman to risk his status and lifestyle, Edwards must have had a stranglehold on him. Perhaps he started thinking with his other head. Had an affair with another woman. Could have been an undergrad, which would cause a scandal at Rainier, maybe lose him his position. Even if he kept his job, his reputation would be shot.”

“And Edwards found out, knew about his prenup and what he'd stand to lose if she contacted his wife, and blackmailed him into toeing the line for her. Blair always said Edwards was a control freak.” 

“We didn't find anything in Edwards' files or home that would indicate she'd been blackmailing Bergman.”

“Yeah, but Joel, Major Crimes didn't get the case right away. At first, Accident Investigations thought this was a simple hit and run. They turned it over to us after Campus Security notified them that they'd ticketed Blair's Volvo at a Rainier parking lot that night and explained the history between Blair and Edwards. Bergman could have had time to locate and get rid of any blackmail material she'd been holding.”

“Blair's been pretty sick, hasn't he?”

“Mono and strep, but I think he's starting to shake it now. He was worn down before that, I suspect. He, uh, he had a hard time of it this past year.” I looked at my watch. “I figure he's going to run out of steam pretty soon. I'd like to take him home, let him really rest there, but we've got to have some assurance that he isn't a target anymore. If Bergman cracks, and we believe him that Blair doesn't have a bulls-eye painted on him anymore, then that would be great.”

“If Bergman had a line on hit-men here in Cascade, he wouldn't have had to try to kill Blair himself.”

“That's what I've been thinking, too. He must not have been able to reach the guy who arranged for the hit in Sweetwater after Blair called him last night. Panicked, I guess. Afraid that if he waited Blair might get picked up by the cops and prove he had an alibi for the night of Edwards' death. That would have had us looking at other people with grudges. Or maybe he was sweating over Blair making a racket on campus about being treated unfairly and bringing unwanted attention back on the case. But I won't take a chance. Blair can stay at a safe house for the night.”

Joel eyed me, a skeptical look on his face. “Well, as long as you're not in danger I guess he'll do as he's told. But I wouldn't trust that boy to stay put if he thinks you need him.”

“I know. It's just not in him to sit back and not help. It's been hard for him being at the station today, when he has to just twiddle his thumbs. And Findley – the cop from Tennessee I worked with – I called him this morning and he told me those two assholes who'd tried for the hit on Blair haven't given up any new information. They're going back to prison on parole violations – the guns that were in their vehicle. There wasn't enough hard evidence to bring them to trial for attempting to murder Blair.”

“But you knew.”

“Yeah. I heard enough. They were going to rape him, kill him, and then bury him on some backwoods mountain. And then buy themselves lottery tickets with the money they'd earned.” I gripped the steering wheel until my knuckles were white.

“He's fine, Jim. Henri will make sure of that. Do you want to call Blair?”

I thought about it and then shook my head. “He's got a buddy working with him on job opportunities. I don't want to disturb him. We'll wrap up the search at Rainier, and then, if we don't hit the jackpot, call it a day and go back to the station.”

“All right, Jim. Sounds like a plan. And I'll see if Bergman is ready to confess when we get back. You look like you could use some sleep. Weren't you up most of the night?”

I fought off the urge to yawn. “Yeah, I was. I think I need some coffee.”

“And I could use a late lunch and to hit the can. Wonderburger okay with you?”

“More than okay. Blair fusses every time I stop at one when I'm with him.”

Joel just grinned. “'Great men are not always wise.' Job 32:9.“

I snorted. “Yeah, he'd agree with you. So we just won't mention it to him, right?”

Joel started to laugh, and I found myself smiling as well. 

Wonderburger it was, then.

~oo~oo~oo~oo~

“If you'll just tell me what you're looking for, Officers, I'll get it for you.” Bergman's secretary must have repeated those words five times already, and we'd only been here a few minutes. She'd been hovering over us ever since we'd handed her the search warrant.

Joel answered her patiently, just like he had the previous times. “Thank you, you've been very helpful. I'm afraid we'll have to keep looking. The information is probably hidden.”

She fluttered her hands, her voice quavery. “I just can't believe what the news stories are saying. Chancellor Bergman arrested for attempted murder? He's such a good man, there must be some mistake. That boy, the one they say he tried to kill? I recognized his name. Blair Sandburg, wasn't it? I remember Chancellor Edwards had to fire him, and I believe he was always causing some sort of trouble around here. Why, now that I think about it, she fired him twice; she decided to give him a second chance when he'd been shirking his teaching responsibilities and then he went and falsified his research. Why, he's the one that should be arrested, not poor Chancellor Bergman. He's lying, he has to be, and he's dragging a good man's name through the mud!”

“Ma'am, I know this is hard to take in, but we arrested the correct person. We're trying to locate any records that might indicate where Chancellor Bergman has been keeping a green Volvo. Did he ever speak to you about that?”

She sat down abruptly, her tall frame crumpling. “Oh my God. Do you mean like the car that killed Chancellor Edwards? Michaels, from campus security, he told me that car belonged to that Sandburg boy. I thought the police were looking for him. We all thought he was the killer.” 

I kept pulling out files and looking through them, and then setting them aside. Nada so far. Joel asked the woman if she needed a drink of water. She did look a little shocky. I glanced through the open door into the outer office and read the name on her desk. Annie Kolander. 

“Ms. Kolander, Blair Sandburg is innocent of any wrongdoing. He's the victim in this case. You can quote me on that. Perhaps you could help us. We'd like a copy of Bergman's address book, or Rolodex, or whatever you use to keep track of phone numbers. Could you do that for us, please?”

She nodded shakily and walked slowly to her desk, and I kept going through files. Joel resumed looking through Bergman's desk.

“Jim, think there's a safe in here somewhere?” 

I nodded. “I found it when you were talking with Ms. Kolander when we first came in. It's on the wall under that picture of horses jumping hurdles. I can probably open it, but I was hoping to find the combination somewhere.”

We worked in silence for the next twenty minutes. The files were a bust, but I noticed my father's name listed in one as a donor. He'd been very generous, too. I wasn't surprised. My father supported a number of Cascade institutions. The hospital, several museums, and the theater were some of the ones I'd known about. There were probably more. Dad didn't brag about things like that.

We asked the secretary about the safe, but she didn't have the combination or know where Bergman kept the numbers.

I opened it in about a minute. There was some money in there, a few sensitive documents that were about the university, and a key. No notation on it, nothing to indicate what its purpose was. 

We showed the key to Ms. Kolander. And the walls of Jericho came tumbling down.

~oo~oo~oo~oo~

I walked with Jack as he maneuvered his way out of the bullpen. We'd finished researching the companies that might hire an anthropologist with a master's degree.

Trouble was, two of the current listings were for overseas jobs. The other company didn't have a good reputation. Based on what we'd learned, they were more than willing to cross ethical lines. I'd rather dig ditches than work for a place like that. 

We'd discussed that also. Digging ditches, that is. I had enough background in archeology that I could work for the state certifying that roads were not being built on burial grounds. I'd considered it before when Jim and I had gotten together, but I hadn't wanted to work out of town and leave him. Those jobs required you to travel and stay gone for weeks at a time. Truck driving did too, so I'd passed those jobs by also. I'd felt too dizzy with love at first to consider it seriously, and then too insecure to leave Jim when everything started falling apart. I'd tried a couple of times for archeology-related jobs during the last year, but Edwards' damning letter was tied to my transcripts and I couldn't get hired. 

Jim and I would have to discuss the possibility of me working out of town, only being able to come back once in a while. I would hate it, and so would Jim, but I needed to work and those jobs were in my field. Maybe if I worked those jobs I could regain some credibility and build on that to find work eventually in Cascade. 

I thanked Jack as I held open the door for him, and we made plans to get together again in a few days.

Now that I wasn't pumping up my energy levels to keep up with Jack, I could feel myself wilting. Simon had returned and was in his office, which was one reason Jack and I had called it a day. I didn't think Simon would appreciate me sleeping on his couch again, and actually, I didn't want to remind him of what he'd seen this morning. I'd been embarrassed enough for one day.

I headed over to talk to Henri instead, but I changed my mind. Henri was busy using the reverse phone directory and making notes. I'd just distract him. Instead, I snagged the pizza box he'd stuck on top of a file cabinet and went to eat at Jim's desk. I grinned, thinking of how Jim would be exasperated and look pointedly for any crumbs that might have landed on his pristine desk top if he caught me doing this. Oh, who was I kidding. He'd know, all right, even if he didn't actually see me scarfing down the pie. 

While I consumed the cold sausage and mushroom pizza, I daydreamed about how he'd be annoyed at my messiness and then he'd demand that I pay for my crime. In my fantasy, he'd have me get down on my knees under his desk and blow him. I couldn't sustain that happy thought, though, because I knew good and well that what he'd really demand was that I get out the environmentally recommended mild cleaner from his bottom drawer and scrub his desk top with it. 

Simon's deep voice caught me by surprise. “Sandburg, I don't think I've ever seen anybody smile so much while eating pizza. You know, I'm surprised you even want to eat pizza again in the bullpen.”

I knew what he was referring to. “I'm pretty sure there's no Golden on this pie, since Henri ate most of it and he's over there working hard. And you know, why should I let those bastards who poisoned me rob me of doing something that I enjoy. That would make it their victory, and I'm not going to live my life like that.”

Simon laid his hand on my shoulder. “How much do you remember about that day?”

“It's all hazy and weird. I don't remember how I got down to the garage, or how I got the gun. I remember being so scared of the fire people and that I had to protect you guys and especially Jim from them. I remember Jim telling me to trust him and me clapping my hands and then I don't remember much at all except Jim holding me. Jeez, I must have looked like I was clapping for Tinkerbell.” I smiled up at Simon, inviting him to laugh with me at how silly I must have looked.

Simon wasn't smiling though. “We almost lost you, Blair. Believe me, nobody was laughing about you clapping your hands. You know, I should have realized how Jim felt about you that day. He was hugging you and rocking you when you passed out. You stopped breathing.”

He shook himself, breaking his mood. “I don't want to hear about you getting poisoned anymore, you hear me, Sandburg? I will personally kick your ass if you put any of us through that again.”

“Okay, I promise not to eat any poisoned apples, no matter how safe the apple seller looks.”

He made a grumbling noise and muttered something about smart asses. “Actually, Snow White, I came over to tell you that Jim and Joel have found the Volvo. I'm sending evidence techs out now. This means that Jim will probably be later than he thought getting back here. I'm setting up a safe house for you, and Brown can take you there, until Jim's free. Just let him know when you want to leave.”

Leave without Jim? Maybe if it was to go home, but I didn't want to go to the safe house without him. 

“I'm fine, Captain Banks.”

“Uh-huh. I remember how 'fine' you were when you told me that before, up at Clayton Falls. Right before you fainted.”

Jeez. He'd mentioned that before, when I'd gotten wired up at the truck stop. Man had a memory like an elephant for my less than stellar moments.

“I didn't faint. I passed out. In a very manly way and... wait. Wait, wait, wait! They found the Volvo? Really? Where?”

“In a storage unit. I don't have the details. And the fact that it took that long for the news to sink into your head ought to tell you that you're more tired than you realize. You and Brown should head out. He can work on those phone numbers there as well as here.”

“No. I'm really okay, Simon. But thanks.”

He cuffed me gently on the back of the head and walked over to Henri.

Wow. I picked up another slice of pizza and bit into it. They'd found the car. My poor baby, turned into a murder weapon. Maybe Nathan would agree to a plea now that this evidence had turned up. I hoped so. I didn't want to think of him on death row. Even if he had tried to poison me.

~oo~oo~oo~oo~

I only closed the blinds in my office if there was a need for privacy. Otherwise, I liked to be able to keep an eye on the bullpen, since fathers and police captains both needed to be able to have that “eyes in the back of their head” reputation going for them.

Right now, I wanted to keep half an eye on Blair. He had a stubborn streak and had always hated to admit he couldn't keep up due to being sick. I'd seen him deny feeling bad when he should have been home in bed. He was a grown man and I wasn't his father, so most of the time I'd let his feeling under the weather slide in order for him to stay with Jim on a case. 

But he couldn't be with Jim at the moment, so there was no point in him staying here and not at the safe house I'd set up, where he could get some sleep. He looked on the edge of exhaustion, even though I knew he'd slept on my couch last night – other than that make out session I'd caught him and Jim engaging in like they were a couple of teenagers. I grinned, remembering the chagrin on Jim's face and the blush that had stained Blair's cheeks red. I rubbed the smile off my face, and glanced at Blair. He was somewhere around thirty years old now, not blessed anymore with a teenager's metabolism. I'd had mono when I was thirteen, and I remembered how it had wiped me out for weeks. I might not be his father and he wasn't part of Major Crimes anymore, but he was my responsibility for the moment, and I'd make him take care of himself, if he wouldn't do it. 

He was writing something, the pizza box pushed to one side on Jim's desk. Well, if he had the energy to do that, I'd let him stay. Joel had called and updated me on the case; he and Jim would be tied up at the rental storage unit with the techs a while longer. Joel had asked me to go put the screws to Bergman, see if he'd cave when he knew we'd found the car. 

I stopped watching Blair and readied some forms for Rhonda. She was on the phone when I stopped by her desk, but gave me her “good job, Boss” smile when I handed them to her. I still needed to ask her some questions before heading downstairs, so I glanced around, observing the bullpen while I waited.

Blair wasn't writing anymore, he was just staring at his paper. Brown was making his own lists, still compiling names to check out from Bergman's phone records. He stopped and chewed on his pen for a moment, then called Blair's name.

Blair didn't seem to hear him. I watched, more entertained than I would ever let on, as Brown balled up a piece of paper and threw it. He hit the kid square on the back of the head.

Blair startled and turned around. 

Brown flashed him a grin. “Hairboy, got a question for you. What's Jim's old man's name?”

“William. Why?” 

“Bergman's called a William Ellison regularly from his office phone. If it's Jim's dad, then I'll call Jim to see if he knows about it. Have you been to his dad's place before? Got an address?”

“Yeah, a couple of times. He lives on Fremont Street.”

“This is him, then.” Brown reached for the phone on his desk.

Blair waved a hand towards Brown. “Hey, H. Call Joel. I've got Jim's phone.” 

Brown dialed and I turned back to wait for Rhonda. She finally ended her phone call, and I asked about Form 156-B. Afterwards, I walked over to Brown's desk. I wanted to follow up on what he had discovered. He hadn't talked long to Jim. 

“I overheard. What'd Jim say?”

“Jim's dad was listed as a regular contributor to the university in a file they found in Bergman's office. Bergman kept a phone log in the donor files, with notations on what they discussed. William Ellison funded a number of special projects. They're going to send over a copy of the file, so I can eliminate the other donors, too.” Brown stood up and stretched. Blair kept quiet, just watching the two of us. 

“Okay, keep at it. I'm going down to question Bergman, see if he'll go for a plea. Save us all a lot of trouble if he did. Once the techs prove that his Volvo was the one that hit Edwards, then the deal goes off the table. Bergman better jump on it, or he's a dead man.”

Henri nodded his head. “Man, I would love it if he'd cooperate. I could stop tracking down the rest of these numbers.”

“Sure I can't help, Simon?” Blair sounded wistful. 

I shook my head. “No. Sorry.”

I left then, to beat Bergman over the head with a reality stick.

~oo~oo~oo~oo~

I felt myself ascending from a deep level of sleep into an awareness that my shoulder was being shaken. No, I whined to myself. Let me sleep.

I mumbled for the shoulder shaker to go away. No such luck. If anything, the shaking intensified. 

My eyes still shut, I reached for blankets to pull up over my head. I felt a hard surface instead. After a while I realized this meant I wasn't in bed. So where was I? Had I fallen asleep at the kitchen table again?

“G'way, Jim. Lemme sleep.”

I heard laughter, and it dawned on me slowly, as the shaking continued, that it wasn't Jim laughing.

“Sandburg, wake up. Time to go.” I knew that voice. Why was Simon at the loft? Was it poker night, and did I pass out, or something?”

“Sandburg. Wake up, kid.” Simon again. Okay, okay. I'd get out of the way. Really, who could play poker with me asleep in the middle of the chips?

“Hairboy, we aren't playing poker.” That was Henri. He was the one laughing at me. 

I felt myself really waking up and I lifted my head. Simon was standing next to me, his hand on my shoulder, and Henri was there, holding the jacket Jim had bought me at Walmart yesterday. 

Not the loft. Not asleep at the kitchen table in the middle of a poker game. I was in the bullpen. I'd fallen asleep on top of the case files for the Edwards murder. I remembered now pulling them forward from the back of the desk to use as a pillow.

“Sandburg, are you ready to make sense now? You know we're not playing poker, right?”

That was Simon. I yawned, and nodded and then stood up and stretched. I took my jacket and shrugged it on.

“Where's Jim?” It was a stupid question. Obviously Jim was still tied up, or it would have been him shaking me awake. 

“Still with the techs. I'm sending you to the safe house, and don't bother arguing; if you can't stay awake, then you can't stay here.” 

Simon sounded... I don't know. Like he was talking to Daryl, maybe. I frowned. I hated it when people treated me like I was still a kid. Hell, I had hated being treated like a kid when I was a kid.

“All right, I see your point.” I held up my hands, placating him. “I'm not arguing about heading for a bed. So what happened with Bergman while I was snoozing?”

“He was really shook up when I informed him that we'd found the car. He's agreed to the plea. His lawyer and an ADA are coming over to hammer it out. He's not going to talk until then.” 

Wow. It looked like closure was just around the corner. Bergman would confess and get his plea. No more hit-men after me; no more protective custody. I could go back to the loft, maybe not tonight, but surely by tomorrow it would be safe. 

Simon laid his hand on my shoulder again. “Get some rest. I know Jim didn't get much sleep last night, so as soon as we've got Bergman's confession, I'll send him to the safe house, too.” He stepped back and turned Henri's way. “You can leave when Ellison gets there.”

“Sure thing, Cap'n. C'mon, Hairboy. We'll swing through somewhere and get some takeout. You want some Chinese or Thai? Barbecue? The P.D. is paying for it, so let's live a little.”

Simon said mildly, “You go over the allotted expense and it comes out of your wallet, Brown.” 

“Right.” Henri winked at me. “We'll stick to the specials.” 

Simon snorted. “Get out of here, and Blair, I meant it when I said to get some rest.” Simon went into his office and shut the door. Henri and I walked out of the bullpen, after I gathered up my meds and notes on job hunting. Jim had bought us some new clothes, but they were in the truck. I missed my backpack. I wished the hospital hadn't kept it.

We'd almost gotten to the elevator when Jim's cell phone rang. I was smiling when I answered it, and waved to Henri to wait for me, while I stepped away out of earshot for some privacy, sure that it was Jim checking in with me.

It wasn't Jim. 

“Who is this? Is this... Blair Sandburg?”

“Hello, Mr. Ellison. Yes, this is Blair. Jim's letting me use his phone, but I can get a message to him, if you like.”

There was silence on the other end. I looked at the phone to see if the call had been lost, but the connection was still good.

“Mr. Ellison? Are you still there?”

No answer. “Mr. Ellison?”

“Jimmy's not with you?” 

“He's in Cascade but he's working on a case. Should I have him call you or do you want to leave a message with me? I'll be seeing him tonight.”

He didn't answer right away. “Mr. Ellison? I have to go; what do you want me to do?”

He finally answered me.

“I'll talk to Jimmy later; it wasn't anything important. But I would like to talk to you. In person. There are things I've wanted to discuss with you, about... you know. I don't like talking over the phone about it. And I don't want Jimmy, or anybody, to know we've talked. Can you come over now? Privately, by yourself? I'm asking you in confidence. It concerns Jimmy's future, and I believe you're a part of that future. There are things that concern Jimmy that you should know.”

I hedged. “It's not really a good time, Mr. Ellison. Could we do it in a day or two?”

“No. I'm afraid that what I have to tell you shouldn't wait. I can't stress this enough, the urgency and the need for this to stay private, just between you and me. Please, Mr. Sandburg. I wouldn't be asking if I didn't have Jimmy's best interests in mind.”

“I don't like the idea of keeping secrets from Jim. Doing that has messed us up in the past, and Jim and I are trying not to make the same mistakes again.”

“Then tell him afterwards if you feel you must, but I'm begging you, Mr. Sandburg, I need to see you tonight, privately. Jim's life is at stake.”

I caved. I'd talk H into letting me stop by and see Jim's dad. He sounded frantic, for him, and if William Ellison, the poster child for stoicism, and Jim's role model in that regard, was losing his cool, it must be as important as he was saying.

“All right. I'll come.”

“I can't stress enough the need to keep our meeting private. Tell no one, and especially not Jim, that you're coming here. Please, Mr. Sandburg. I have my reasons.”

“I'll be there soon. Goodbye, Mr. Ellison.”

“Thank you.” He ended the call and I put the phone up to my forehead, thinking.

It must be the sentinel stuff. Jim had said that he and his dad had been close over the last year. What did William Ellison know about Jim that was scaring him so badly? Maybe it wasn't anything, and I could lay the man's fears to rest. Maybe he'd seen Jim in a zone or something and was terrified about Jim's health. He hadn't been open to discussing Jim's abilities with me in the past. He might well clam up again in the future. If he wanted to talk, then this was a golden opportunity for me to develop some rapport with the man who was in effect, my father-in-law.

I beckoned Henri over. I'd have to tell him that I needed to see Jim's dad before going on to the safe house. Maybe a small obfuscation was in order.

~oo~oo~oo~oo~

Henri had parked two houses down and across the street from William's big house. He had a good view for surveillance from there, even inside the garage, since it was wide open.

My conscience was twinging a bit about letting Henri think it had been Jim who'd called me and asked me to stop by his dad's house. I hadn't actually _stated_ that it had been Jim. I just hadn't corrected Henri's assumption. 

There wasn't any danger in stopping and seeing William, but by the time I would have talked Henri into letting me go without Jim's approval, William and I could have finished our talk and I could be in bed. I was tired.

Anyway, we'd arrived in a roundabout way, making sure nobody had followed us from the station. Once there Henri had agreed to keep a low profile, after he'd used binoculars to cautiously check out the perimeter of the house. I wondered where Sally was, since her car wasn't in the driveway. She lived at the Ellison residence, but she didn't work twenty-four hours a day there. I knew she sometimes visited relatives and went out with her friends. 

My conscience was clear about Jim, though. I'd returned to Jim's desk and left a note about where I'd gone and why on the top of the Edwards file, where he couldn't miss it. By the time Jim read the note William and I would be done talking and I would be released from William's insistence on keeping the conversation private.

I knocked on the door, thinking that William needed to get his porch light turned on. Maybe he needed the light bulb changed. I'd offer to fix it before I left. He really shouldn't be on a ladder and he'd need one to reach the fixture. 

He opened the door and ushered me inside, murmuring that he'd take my jacket. I quickly eyed him and he looked in good health. He was standing straight, and his body was tall and strong, with good muscle tone even though he was somewhere in his sixties. 

However, he was clearly upset. I summoned up the energy to look at his aura. The muddy tones of red, green, and blue that were woven throughout his aura and the gray shimmer around his heart told me that his spiritual health was not great. Still, I was pretty sure that he would never allow me to try to do what I had done for Jim. Maybe, just maybe, if I pumped my energy levels up, my aura might blend somewhat with his, and maybe I could do something to help him recover, even if just for a little while. I would listen to his concerns, try to help him with his anxiety about Jim. I had a feeling that this was something counselors did, as well as shamans. I wasn't really either, but I'd do my best to help him.

I thought this panic of his was more about William's perception that something was not right with Jim, rather than anything that was actually wrong. I'd been up close and personal with Jim's spiritual self a lot in the last week. After the extraction I'd done, Jim's aura had kept shimmering with strong, clear colors. 

Jim was good. I was sure of it. 

“Please, come into the kitchen. Sally made apple turnovers this morning – they were always Jimmy's favorite – and I've made a fresh pot of coffee. I think it would be easier to discuss the problem fortified by some good strong coffee.” He took my elbow and steered me towards the brightly lit kitchen.

I wouldn't say no to anything Sally baked – maybe there would be enough turnovers to take some with me, for Jim – and tired as I was, coffee would help me rev up my energy levels.

He waved me to a kitchen chair and set a plate of the pastries on the beautiful cherry wood table. He busied himself with filling a mug with coffee and a splash of creamer, and set it before me, then fixed his own mug and sat down on the other side of the table.

We sipped our coffee, and I waited for him to bring up what was bothering him about Jim. 

“Please, Mr. Sandburg, try one of Sally's turnovers. I... I'm thinking about how best to explain to you about... well. Give me a few moments, if you don't mind.” I nodded. 

I'd finished my coffee and a turnover before he began speaking. 

“I love my sons. I wasn't particularly a good father to them when they were boys, but I didn't know I was failing them so miserably. Looking back, I can see where I made my mistakes. I can't change the past, but I hope that I've become a good father to Jimmy and Stephen now. I would do anything to save my boys. You aren't a parent, are you, Mr. Sandburg?”

“Blair, please, call me Blair. And no, I'm not.”

“You're very close to Jimmy, I know. I suppose that at this point we should drop the formality of titles. Please, Blair, feel free to call me William.”

“Okay, William. Thank you.” I smiled at him, hoping to put him at ease. This was good, William and I talking, and once I'd laid his fears about Jim to rest, this might be a turning point in our own relationship. It would be nice for Jim to have his lover and his father getting along with each other, although William hadn't been told yet that his son and I were in a committed relationship. We were waiting for things to die down with the case first, then we'd have a long talk with William.

“I don't know, since you are childless, if you can really comprehend the fears parents have for their children. I had plenty of them for my boys. The world is not a kind place, not for those who are different; I wanted to spare my boys the pain of being taunted, hurt, or rejected.” He looked at me, willing me to understand.

“You didn't want Stephen or Jim to have bad experiences because of who they were or what they did.” I knew, of course, about how William had pounded into Jim's head that he should hide his sentinel abilities when he was a kid. I also knew that he had done that thinking he was protecting his son. But I kept silent. It was my role to listen to him tonight, not point out to William how he had screwed Jim and Stephen up. 

Something occurred to me... William's reaction to Jim being different from other boys had always seemed to me to be an overreaction. Had something happened to William when he was a kid? Had he been seen as different, been treated harshly because of it? Could William have also had sentinel senses as a boy, and repressed them? My research indicated that being a sentinel was tied to genetics. I'd always wondered about Jim's mother being a sentinel, since the little Jim knew and had shared with me indicated that his mother seemed to have had some health problems before she left her husband and her boys. But what if Jim's abilities came from William?

“William? Were you treated badly as a kid because you were different in some way?”

He looked at me, and I could see his eyes becoming wet. 

“Excuse me. I'm afraid that at my age I must visit the facilities more often than young men like yourself. Please, would you like another turnover? Or help yourself to more coffee, if you would like.”

He left the kitchen, but he didn't stop at the downstairs bathroom. I heard him go up the stairs. Probably felt more comfortable in his own bathroom.

I passed on eating any more turnovers. I thought I should get up and pour myself another cup of coffee, but it seemed like too much trouble.

William took his sweet time in the john, but I reminded myself to have patience. He'd seemed to be on the edge of crying when he'd excused himself, and might take a while to pull himself together. Or, you know, just needed that long to take care of business. 

That coffee didn't seem to be having any effect on me at all. I wondered if it had been de-caf, because I was getting so tired. Damn this mono. It kept just knocking me off my feet, and if William didn't come down pretty soon, he'd find me asleep at his table. 

I yawned, and felt lightheaded. Whoa. I closed my eyes and decided it would be a bad idea to move for a while. Let my head settle back down first.

I'm not sure how long I stayed like that, just sitting quietly, eyes shut, but the dizziness kept increasing and I thought that whether or not William liked it, I was going to have to take off soon.

I decided to go knock on the bathroom door, tell him that I really had to leave now, and it was shit or get off the pot time. Not that I'd actually phrase it like that. I wasn't going to be a jackass and be all rude. This was Jim's dad; I wanted him to have a good impression of me.

I wanted him to like me.

I opened my eyes and stood up. When I did, my stomach started doing flip-flops and I staggered away from the table. I made it out of the kitchen, and into a large study sort of room, with bookshelves, a desk, a big stuffed chair, and a couch against one wall. I realized that I'd gotten turned around, because this wasn't the way I had come into the kitchen. It seemed easier to stumble to the door on the other side, and hope that it would open back out into the hallway so I could find William. I wasn't able to walk very well, more of a zig-zag than a straight line, and then the room started spinning around and around, a countermelody to the acrobatics going on in my gut. 

Fuck. This felt like I'd gotten very, very drunk. A part of my brain wanted to pout about that, being this hungover without the fun part of getting sloshed. The more intelligent bits of gray matter were screaming at me that this wasn't right. Either I was getting very sick – and what new hell would that be about – or I was having a bad reaction to the coffee or the apple turnovers. 

Crap. What if Sally had put some spice or something In those turnovers and I was having an allergic reaction to it?

My smart ass comment to Simon about not eating any poisoned apples was coming back to kick my butt. Karma. When was I going to realize I shouldn't tempt Karma like that?

The door out of the study was locked. I turned and lurched back towards the kitchen, and stumbled into a small table that was laden with books and files. I knocked them all over. 

Oh, wonderful. What a great way to make a good impression on your father-in-law.

I fell to my knees and tried to sort out the jumbled mess and re-stack them, but I wasn't having much success.

My head began pounding, and my heartbeat started skipping around. Shit. I might need medical help. I called out for William, but I couldn't seem to get my voice to work loudly enough. I fumbled for Jim's cell phone. Henri was right outside, and I was sorry that William would know that I hadn't come alone, but I was starting to get very scared. 

I got the cell phone out and promptly dropped it. Shit, shit, shit. It hit the floor and skittered out of my reach. I made a long arm trying to reach it, my other arm braced against the floor, and William walked in the door.

“I'm...” I was feeling so weak and too warm and there were colored dots dancing in front of my eyes. He reached down and grasped me by my biceps. 

“Are you not feeling well? Perhaps you should lie down, go to sleep.” His voice sounded odd to me, but then my ears were fucked up, too, because there was this loud ringing noise.

He raised me up and the vertigo hit me full force again. My vision narrowed down to a tunnel, the orange and red and green dots disappearing into blackness as he turned me towards the couch.

“M' sick. Hospital. Jim.”

“You're going to lie down. Everything will be taken care of.”

It felt like my arms and legs didn't belong to me anymore. William tightened his arms around me, my back against his torso, and then blackness swallowed me up.

~oo~oo~oo~oo~

Joel and I were elated about Bergman's decision to quit dicking around and take a plea, and on the drive back to the station we discussed our next steps.

Joel would handle the interrogation; he'd make sure the cameras were working, see if the other players had arrived yet, arrange for Bergman to be brought into the room.

I'd go grab the files on both the Edwards case and the attempted murder on Blair and set up shop in the observation room. The ADA would want to go over the evidence – the written testimonies, the confirmation of acrylamide in the thermos Bergman had handed to Blair, the letters Blair's bosses had received that indicated harassment from Bergman, the forensic evidence from the scene of Edwards' murder – to use as leverage against him. I'd listen in and confer with Joel on lines of questioning, since I was more familiar with the cases.

Hopefully, we could get things wrapped up without it taking all night; if Blair wasn't deeply asleep when I got to the safe house, we'd go home. I just needed to be able to read Bergman about whether there were still hit-men that he'd hired lurking around waiting to fulfill the contract on Blair. I didn't think so, because it didn't make much sense to hire someone to do your dirty work and then try to do it yourself. 

I parked the truck and we rode up in the elevator, Joel getting off on the third floor and me on the seventh. Once at my desk, I quickly dropped the files I'd been carrying that contained the copies of the subpoenas on top of the other case files, since the message light on my desk phone was blinking. I checked my messages but there wasn't anything that needed my immediate attention, so I grabbed the stack of files and went to get organized in the observation room.

I met Simon in the hallway, shooting the shit with Beverly Sanchez. “Simon. Beverly, you're the ADA on this case? Who'd you piss off to get stuck working this late?”

Beverly smiled at me. It wasn't a nice smile. Not at all. “Oh, I asked to be assigned to this case, once I heard about it. Blair risked taking a bullet for me, and I'll never forget that. How is he, by the way? Simon mentioned that he's been sick.”

Simon interrupted us. “Bergman's cooling his heels in there,” he pointed to the interrogation room, “and his lawyer should be here any minute. Joel's escorting him up. I'll be sitting in, at least for a while, to help keep Bergman rattled.”

“A teddy bear like you coming across as intimidating? You're kidding, right, sir?” 

Simon snorted. “Better be careful, Jim. Sandburg's smart mouth must be catching. I'll be back in a minute. I could use some coffee.” He strode down the hall and around the corner.

Beverly touched my arm. “So, how is Blair? I always liked him. Is he just here for the case, or is he moving back to Cascade?”

“He's had a bad time with mono and strep, but he's turned the corner on it. And he's staying. Um, with me.” I was willing to stop right there, but Beverly is a very perceptive woman.

“With you? Like roommates again? Friends?” She must have seen something in my expression because she smiled again, only this time in a warm and friendly way.

“Or friends who've realized their potential? Jim? Should I be congratulating you?”

“Yeah, we're together. It's good, Bev.” I looked at her pretty face, and remembered when we had kissed, trying out a tentative attraction. It hadn't taken long for us to decide to shelve that attraction in favor of being friends. I'd never regretted it.

“I can't say I'm surprised. You know, you talked more about Blair whenever we got together than anything to do with us. He's a genuinely nice man, and a real cutie. I hope you guys are very happy together.” Her dark eyes took on a mischievous look. “I could throw you a coming out party.”

“I'm letting the grapevine take care of spreading the news. But if you do want to help, how about keeping an eye open for a job for Blair? You know Bergman and Edwards shafted him about his job opportunities, right?” 

She nodded. “I know, the bastards. Like Blair was their puppet, a doll to manipulate instead of a human being. Sure, I'll ask around about a job for him. And maybe we can all go out for a beer when he's feeling better, have some laughs.”

I could hear Bergman's lawyer and Joel getting off the elevator, but they were too far away for Beverly to notice yet. Simon was on his way back, too. 

“Thanks, Bev. And yeah, Blair and I would like that. Say, I'll talk to you later; I need to get my stuff organized. Good luck, Counselor.”

I ducked into the room and set down the files. I was sorting them into piles when Simon came in and placed a large coffee in front of me.

“Thanks, Simon.” He went back out and I watched through the one-way mirror as Bergman's lawyer, Beverly, Simon, and Joel entered the small room. Bergman was handcuffed to the table and looked terrible. 

Show time was about to begin.

~oo~oo~oo~oo~

I found Blair's note in the middle of the stack of files while the lawyers worked out the plea. They'd get the legal mumbo-jumbo completed, then Bergman would make both a verbal and written confession. Joel would painstakingly go over that confession, making sure there were no loopholes a defense lawyer could use. Bergman could change his mind and ask for a trial even while he was in front of the judge accepting the plea formally, and in that case we wanted the evidence and confession ready to nail his ass.

It'd been about an hour and a half since Blair had left the note; he'd scribbled the time on it. What on earth could my father want to talk to him about that had to be done privately this evening? Blair had written that Dad was pretty upset, was worried about me, and that he'd get to the bottom of it and try to calm my dad down about whatever he thought was wrong.

I was sure their talk could have waited, and I'd call Blair first chance that I got, probably when Joel took a break, since didn't want to miss anything during Bergman's confession. There was a phone jack in this room, but no phone. I suspected it had been liberated to replace one that wasn't working correctly somewhere else in the building

After the plea forms were signed, Bergman's lawyer took a hike, and Beverly came in to say goodbye and look over the evidence. 

After she left, Bergman started to lose it. 

Joel was playing good cop now, making supportive noises, making sure that Bergman had a glass of water, and pushing a Kleenex box over to him when tears began running down his face.

Simon didn't say much, just glowered at the man. He stood directly across from Bergman, and as big as Simon is, Bergman would be forced to notice him. I expected that Simon would leave shortly, once he was convinced Bergman was going to sing like the proverbial canary.

I think it was actually cathartic for the man. He admitted that Edwards had blackmailed him about an affair he'd had with a student, a seventeen-year-old girl. Edwards had pictures of him with this girl in compromising positions, and had threatened to expose him to his wife and bring about his ruin at the university. He'd broken it off with the girl, and she'd transferred to another school, well fortified with guilt money from him.

Edwards had used him like a dog, he said, his hands gripping each other now that Joel had removed the handcuffs. She'd foisted a lot of her job responsibilities off on him and taken credit for a lot of his own work, and silenced him when he wanted to protest the policies she was endorsing. He'd hated seeing what she was doing as chancellor. She'd turn a blind eye to abuse if it meant cover-up money from rich parents, to make sure their little darlings didn't have to face any consequences. He mentioned Brad Ventriss and Blair's involvement as an example. 

He'd tried to escape, to transfer to another department, to even get a job somewhere else. She wouldn't have it. She didn't demand money from him, although she did expect him to pick up her tabs at any restaurant meetings they attended. She constantly punished him, though, and he choked out how demeaning it had been for her to order him around, and how he felt as if his soul was shriveling from having to dance to her tune. 

He said he didn't want to admit what he'd done with that girl because he didn't want to hurt his wife. He denied being concerned about losing her fortune if they divorced, but his body language expressed to me that he was fudging about that. He'd miss the money and the prestige he'd married into.

Okay, background motivation established, Joel led him to surrender details regarding his plan to kill Edwards and why he'd involved Blair Sandburg.

Bergman said he had hated Edwards' policy decisions as chancellor, things like blocking changes that would have benefited the teaching assistants, or shifting funds earmarked for counseling and educational resources into accounts he knew would not help the students . He passionately believed her actions would end up hurting Rainier, and finally concluded that she had to be removed. 

And Blair? Well, he'd known for some time that Blair, who'd been one of the few to oppose her publicly, would make a good scapegoat. Blair had wanted to file a grievance against her, based on the letters she had sent out to his prospective employers in Cascade. Bergman had pretended to have advocated for Blair, but in reality he hadn't addressed Blair's grievance with the committee. He'd wanted to keep alive a reason for Blair to be angry with Edwards. 

I shook my head, listening to this well-respected and educated man describe how he'd set Blair up to be his patsy. It might have worked, too, if Blair's alibi hadn't cleared him. If he'd been arrested, though, those of us on the force that knew him would have worked day and night to find the actual killer. Even if Blair and I hadn't gotten back together, I would never have let him take the fall for a crime he hadn't committed.

Bergman stopped talking to blow his nose and wipe at his face. Joel gently prodded him to continue talking, and he took a deep breath and went on.

He said that at that point he hadn't totally decided on killing her, though he'd thought about it a lot. He'd begun trying out different methods in his head, ones that would not implicate him. 

He'd kept tabs on Blair's whereabouts, not hard to do since Blair's transcript files were flagged for notification to Edwards whenever they were requested by Blair's prospective employers. It had actually fallen to Bergman to be the one to make sure the letters were sent. He knew Blair was struggling to keep a job, and he remembered conversations he and Blair'd had about Blair's car. He remarked that he was a classic car buff himself, but his wife didn't see the point of buying old vehicles, so he hadn't indulged his desire for one. 

He realized that if he bought Blair's car and didn't change the registration, he could use it to run down Edwards. If he made sure to have the car ticketed, it would be proof that Blair's green Volvo had been on campus that day. He would wear a wig, pick a deserted time and day. He and Edwards attended many meetings together and he felt sure he could do it. He didn't own a gun, didn't know how to shoot one, poisoning might bring suspicion on him since he was a chemist, and he didn't want to touch her to strangle her, besides the danger of leaving evidence on her body.

Blair was jumping around the country; he'd be hard to find. If the police came to Rainier looking for any useful information on Blair Sandburg's current whereabouts, the files could be hidden or doctored. Blair would be safe enough from police questioning, and if it came down to it, it would be his word against Blair's. He was respected in the community; Blair had a reputation as a liar who'd forged his research. He thought that since Blair's history of disagreements with Edwards was public, and his own was not, Blair would seem the more credible suspect. 

So he flew into New Mexico. He'd gotten Blair's address from the welding shop Blair worked at by spinning a story about updating the University's records. Then he went looking for him. Pretending that he'd run into Blair by chance, he'd treated him to dinner and offered to buy the car. Blair had agreed, and left it to him to complete the paperwork for registering the car in Bergman's name. 

Joel asked him what he had done with the Volvo. Bergman broke down for a while, and he took a few minutes to regain his self-control. Finally he drank some water and continued with his confession. 

He'd hidden the car at Pacific Storage, but he'd been careful not to have the unit listed in his own name. One of his friends, another professor who was on sabbatical in France, had emptied his house of furniture so that it could be rented out. He'd had his furniture stored, leaving the care and bill paying in Bergman's hands. The storage manager had been told Bergman was in charge, papers signed to that effect, and it had been simple for Bergman to request another unit in his friend's name for additional space. 

He'd kept the folder and key for his friend's unit in his secretary's office. Unluckily for him, she had recognized the key from the safe as being the same sort as the key in the folder. The file the secretary gave Joel and me had supplied Pacific Storage's name. The subpoena had covered rental units as well as Bergman's home and office, and the manager's records had identified which units were under his friend's name. 

The second one we had opened revealed a green Volvo. Bingo.

Joel explained to Bergman the process by which we'd located the car. Bergman put his head in his hands, and Joel offered him more water and allowed him a minute to regain his composure. 

In answer to Joel's next series of questions, Bergman described Edwards' murder and how he had hidden the car afterward back in the storage unit.

“Why did you keep the car, sir?” 

“I thought eventually I could drive it, after things had calmed down. I would have had it painted, figured out how to get a different title. I didn't want to sink it in a lake or drive it off a cliff, and Detective Ellison asked me about a chop shop, but my knowledge of such things are from the movies. I don't know anyone who runs one. I don't even know anyone who would know anyone who runs one. I'm not a criminal.”

Nope, I thought. Not a criminal. Just a murderer. And almost one twice over.

More questions. More answers. More details about how he'd decided Blair had become a risk he couldn't afford anymore, not since Blair had contacted him and talked about moving back to Cascade. 

Joel walked him through the steps he'd taken to kill Blair when they'd met for coffee. 

All of those details meshed with what we'd known from observing him.

Joel looked sternly at Bergman. “Tell me about the hit-men you hired to kill Blair Sandburg while he was in custody in Sweetwater, Tennessee.” Now we were heading to the unknown parts of this story.

Bergman frowned and looked confused.

“Excuse me?”

“Your plea covers those charges, also, Chancellor, so there isn't any reason to keep that information hidden. We know you hired two hit-men to kill Blair Sandburg. We want the name of your contact for those hit-men, and we want to know how you knew Sandburg was incarcerated at Sweetwater.”

Bergman held up his hands. “I don't know what you're talking about. Blair had dropped off my radar. He wasn't contacting the university for his transcripts anymore. And hit-men? How would I know how one goes about hiring a hit-man? I didn't have anything to do with any hit-men.”

I stood up. He was being truthful. Shit. Blair was still in danger. But from who?

Simon excused himself and joined me. Joel was still questioning Bergman about hiring hit-men and he kept protesting his innocence.

“Jim, is he telling the truth? He's coming across to me as being honest.”

“I'd bet on it. Damn it, there's another player at work here.”

I sat back down, thinking. After Edwards' murder, Bergman had kept sending the letter trashing Blair along with his transcripts. He'd admitted that he did it to keep Blair on the run. We'd assumed he'd sent the other letters, the ones that warned employers that they'd hired a bad apple, that Blair was going to be investigated on various fraud charges and had hinted that he was also a sexual predator. The ones signed “James Ellison” that had pissed Blair off so much, since he'd thought I'd sent them. 

Maybe Bergman wasn't responsible for the second type of letter.

At any rate we needed to see if he had or hadn't sent them. I picked up the folder that contained a faxed copy of the letter that one of Blair's former employers had received. Restless, I stood back up and handed it to Simon. 

“See if he recognizes this letter. At the very least, I'll get a reading on his reaction.” 

Simon opened the folder to familiarize himself with the letter. I hadn't bothered to read it myself yet, since Blair had described the contents with a lot of force back in Sweetwater. I moved a little closer to him and glanced at it, then I grabbed it out of his hands.

“Jim? What is it?” 

My heart rate picked up, sounding like thunder in my ears. Oh, no, there must be some mistake, I wasn't seeing what I thought I was seeing. Oh, dear God, please let me be wrong.

I moved past Simon, ignoring his demand for me to stop and talk to him. I flung open the interrogation room door and in a few strides was looming over Bergman. 

Oh, dear God, let Bergman have written this. 

I shoved the letter under his nose. “Did you write this?”

He pushed it down so he could see it properly and began reading it. After his eyes had glanced down the first paragraph he stopped and shook his head. 

“Are you positive?” Bergman's eyes widened, and Joel looked at me with alarm. 

“No! I didn't write that. I don't know who did.”

Oh my God.

“What connection does William Ellison have with you?”

He glanced to the right and then upwards. “Your father? He's been a very generous donor to the university.”

He was being truthful but he wasn't telling all the truth. “What else! All of it, now!”

“He, he arranged for Chancellor Edwards to send to Blair's prospective employers an extremely negative letter regarding Blair's university work history. And he wanted her to send him any new information she received, such as updated addresses for Blair. After she died, he came to see me and explained the arrangement they'd had, and that if I would continue it, then he would continue to generously fund my special projects.”

Oh my God. And Blair had gone to my dad's house.

I couldn't get my head around what I was learning. 

Simon grabbed my arm and propelled me out the door, Joel following. I broke loose and practically ran down the hall to the elevators and hit the down button. Joel and Simon caught up to me there.

“We need to call Blair right now, he's got my phone. Make sure he's okay.” Oh, God.

Joel made the call. 

Simon said quietly, but with force, “Explain what's going on here, Jim.” 

I held up the letter. “I'm pretty sure that's my dad's signature. He's not even lying on it. His name is William James Ellison. Simon, he bribed Edwards and Bergman to harass Blair. Blair and Henri stopped at his place on the way to the safe house. Blair left me a note telling me that my dad wanted to see him privately. Simon, what if it's my dad who...” I couldn't finish that thought.

Joel said, urgently, “Blair doesn't answer and neither does Henri. We should roll.” 

Grasping at straws, I told them, “Cell phone reception is spotty out by his house. Maybe that's why we can't reach them.”

Simon ordered, “Joel, contact Dispatch to reach Brown by radio. See if there are any units in the area for backup. Jim, what's your dad's phone number?”

I gave it to him. Simon called but only got the answering machine. Joel called Dispatch and also arranged for Bergman to be returned to his cell. I heard the elevator rising to our floor and willed it to work faster. 

I felt hot, then cold, and my gut was roiling. Finally, the elevator door opened and we rushed inside. Joel hit the button for the garage, and tried again to call Blair, then Henri, as we descended. 

Simon grasped my shoulder. “Jim. I need you to listen to me. And I'll have your ass stuffed in a patrol car and you handcuffed to the grill if you don't do exactly what I say. You can not enter your dad's house or talk to him. Somehow, this is all about what Blair is to you. You're the key, the connection. If your dad's holding the kid hostage, then seeing you might be the trigger to kill him. I hope to God I'm wrong about all of this. Maybe he just took a dislike to Blair after the publicity over that damn dissertation, and just wanted him away from you. Maybe he's not the one who hired the hit-men. But you know, he's looking awfully good for it.” Simon shook my shoulder.

“I need your word, Jim. You've been a cop for a long time now. You know what usually happens when the catalyst comes on the scene.”

He was right, I knew he was right. But... “I can sneak in, get Blair out. Simon, I have to --”

Simon swung me into the elevator wall and pinned me there. “Jim, if I'm not making myself clear, then I'm putting you in handcuffs immediately. You can not make contact with your father. If he does have Blair, then we'll hold seeing you as a delaying tactic and a bargaining chip. Get your act together here. Your father is obsessed. He's risked a lot already to get at Blair, and if he thinks you know what he's doing then he's got every reason to kill Blair anyway, and maybe himself so he doesn't have to deal with you knowing what he's done.”

The fog that had been in my head cleared. Simon was right. “I got it, Simon. But I have to go! I can listen for what's going on when I get there. God, I hope this is a false alarm, and that Blair's asleep in the safe house.”

The elevator opened onto the parking garage and I headed for my truck. Simon grabbed my arm. “You're not driving. I am. I'm parked over here.” He let go and I followed him; we were all practically running, although there was no way that we'd be the first ones on the scene. 

And then I stopped dead in my tracks, skidding a little. The panther, snarling, tail lashing, was pacing on top of Simon's black Ford Explorer. He let out a roar that was loud enough to crumble stone. But Joel and Simon were oblivious and continued to move to the car at a fast clip. 

I couldn't. A terrible, horrific fear had hit me like a tidal wave.

Blair, the image of Blair, was floating before me. His feet were inches off the floor, putting us at eye level. He was translucent. 

“Blair, oh God, are you still alive?!”

He put his hands on my cheeks. I couldn't feel him. He looked at me with such love in his eyes.

And then he disappeared.

~oo~oo~oo~oo~


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter could be triggering so please check warnings.

_'Blair, oh God, are you still alive?!'_

I reached out to touch Jim, to reassure him – weird, my fingers looked funny – but while I could see my hands on his face, I couldn't feel _him_. Jim, he looked so scared. What was wrong?

I heard the panther roaring and suddenly I wasn't with Jim anymore. I was back in William's house. I wasn't sure _where_ I'd just been, either. I must be dreaming. Yeah, I was still dreaming because the last thing I remembered was feeling out of it, and William holding me. He'd been trying to move me to the couch; he'd been saying something about lying down. 

And there I was on the couch. I could see my legs, partly covered with a blanket. William was bending over me, blocking me from seeing the rest of my body. Without realizing I was doing it, I moved to where I could see what was going on. 

Must be dreaming; this was totally bizarre. I was floating now horizontally over my body, like I was flying to Never-Never Land, and William was holding a pillow near my face. He threw it on the floor like it had burned him. Then he leaned down and kissed me on the forehead. 

I tried pinching myself to wake up. William kissing me like that was just... not like William, and I didn't want this to turn into some weird sex dream thing. If it did, I wouldn't be able to look William in the face when I woke up. 

Pinching myself had no effect whatsoever. Crap. Maybe I should try to travel to Blue Jungle Land and regroup from there, since I was making no progress in waking up here. I started to visualize a pathway, tried to slow my breathing down into a deep rhythmic pattern, make my heart calm into slow, steady beats.

But I couldn't feel myself breathing or my heart beating. I wasn't going anywhere. I felt like rolling my eyes. Dreams were so strange. 

William rearranged the blanket, uncovering my body for a moment, and shocked, I saw that my hands and feet were bound together with duct tape. He covered my face with the blanket, and I, being the brilliant scientist that I am, finally put the pieces together. 

Fuck! Holy unbelievable fuck, fuck, fuck! This wasn't a dream. William hadn't been trying to make me comfortable with a pillow and a blanket, he'd smothered me! This was like a textbook out-of-body experience! 

I might be dead. William thought I was, which explained the blanket covering up my face.

Santa Muerte, I could be dead. I had materialized in front of Jim. My soul had gone to his when I left my body. I flashed on the terrified look on Jim's face. My Jim, who didn't think twice about hanging from helicopters, or jumping on semis from bridges, or hurtling himself off cliffs, was scared. For me.

Okay, I needed to re-enter my body. I closed my eyes and willed myself to wake up, body and soul in one place again.

I opened them cautiously. Shit. It hadn't worked. I watched William put the finishing touches on wrapping me up. He laid his hand on the blanket where my forehead was and it seemed to me that he did it tenderly. 

Whatever I had done that made him think I had to die, he seemed to have forgiven me. 

What was I going to do? Was I still alive, or was I dead? I didn't want to die. Damn it, Jim and I had just worked things out between us. It wasn't fair to kick it now! 

Concentrate, Blair. I attempted to move down closer to my trussed-up body but now that I was purposefully trying to do it, I couldn't seem to budge an inch. Fuck a duck. I felt helpless, like a butterfly pinned to a board. Oh, God, bad choice of images. Those butterflies were dead when they were pinned. Killed by poison. Apparently something else I had in common with them – William must have drugged me or poisoned me. 

He sat down heavily in the recliner in the opposite corner. He looked so sad. It was crazy; he'd tried to kill me, maybe he'd even succeeded... and I wanted to comfort him. 

I wondered if I was breathing under that blanket. If so, it wasn't very apparent. I tried again to make myself go into my body. No luck.

I hoped that Jim had found my note. If he had, he'd know I had gone to his father's house, and after seeing me all spooky he'd check on me. I supposed Jim's cell phone was turned off or crushed by now. But Henri would come, surely? Jim would call him or he'd get bored sitting out in the car and find some excuse to check on me. Jim would be on his way, driving like a crazy man probably. When he got here, maybe he could see me again, if I hadn't figured out this whole out-of-body gig and slid back home. Could I talk to him? 

There was a knock on the door, and William went out of the room. He came back moments later, accompanied by two men. 

The dark-haired, good-looking guy said, “He's dead, right? The boss told you to take care of that yourself. 'Cause snuffing him out ain't in the job description.”

William nodded, then added. “He didn't suffer. I made sure of that.”

The second man, tall, built like a gorilla, and I swear he could probably walk on his knuckles, piped up. “We don't give a shit if angels descended to carry him to Heaven. We aren't getting paid enough to do anything except clean up your mess. You should have done what the boss told you to and laid low, let him set up something. You jumped the gun, and you put the boss in a bind, calling him at the last minute like this. He said to tell you he's charging you double the price for the rush job. And we aren't hanging around here for our health. You get the door, and me and my associate here will handle Chuckles over there.”

Oh, crap. It was obvious they were here to get rid of my body. If they checked first before taking me out of here and I was alive, then they'd make sure William did the job right this time. 

Now I wasn't sure I should try and go back. If I did and William killed me, I'd know it this time. I experienced a flash of panic, remembering what it had felt like to drown when Alex had killed me. I didn't want to leave this plane and travel to the great unknown carrying memories of what it felt like to smother to death, too. 

Jim. I wanted to see Jim before the light came for me, or the door opened, or the Grim Reaper arrived to escort me onwards.

Jim would come. I needed to stay for him. Poor Jim. He'd figure out what William had done. I ached suddenly with pity for him; the ordeal he was about to be put through would be excruciating. 

Dark-haired guy went to stand by my head. He pulled on a pair of leather gloves and touched the blanket. I was powerless, unable to move, and horrified, I yelled at them to get away from me.

They didn't hear me. I kept yelling anyway. 

“Look, old man, we're just gonna do a little check on your work, understand? If you screwed it up, well then, you get to have a do-over.” Gorilla guy smirked at William, and I wanted to clock the asshole. My death wasn't some sort of joke, God dammit. 

They were all intent on seeing if William had really killed me, and as they bent over my body, the dark-haired guy's hand beginning to pull down the edge of the blanket, a voice, strong and determined, barked out a welcome order.

“Cascade P.D. Step away from the couch and spread your hands out where I can see them. Then slowly get face first down on the floor. _Now_ , assholes.” 

Henri. God, it was Henri and I was so glad to see him that I could have kissed him. He was standing partly in the doorway, ready to duck sideways for cover. 

The three men reacted differently. William froze, dark-haired guy started cursing while he began his descent to his knees, hands above his head, and the gorilla threw himself at the end of the couch for partial cover, pulled out a gun and started shooting at Henri.

The dark-haired man took advantage of the distraction to lunge for cover by the recliner across the room when Henri ducked back into the kitchen. He started adding his gunfire to the racket. It was crazy and chaotic and I was worried about Henri being there by himself, and this was all my fault, all of it, I shouldn't have come here, I should have told the truth to Henri and now he might pay for my mistake with his life. And William, God – Jim was going to be devastated and if I hadn't given in to William's demands to see me tonight, Jim might have figured out his father wanted me dead and stopped him before he got himself into any more trouble. 

Gunshots were echoing through the room, and Henri was shooting back and yelling at them to give up. Police sirens were wailing, coming closer and closer.

William seemed to awaken and apparently realized he was in the middle of a shootout. It was a miracle he hadn't been hit by a bullet already. He did what Henri had ordered. He lay down flat on the carpet, a little way from the couch. 

I wanted to help Henri so badly. I tried directing energy at a crystal paperweight on the desk near the other locked door, to use it to clobber one of the assholes, but I failed. Damn it, if I was dead, then I wanted to go all poltergeist on their asses. 

Screams of pain from the dark-haired guy accompanied the slow blossoming of red on his shoulder, and the gun that he'd been firing flew up into the air, landing near William's hand. 

Sirens were screaming right outside now; I heard doors crashing open and Henri yelling to his backup what was happening. 

Gorilla guy fired off a burst of shots, then tried for the locked door near the couch and recliner. When it didn't open he shot the door knob off, but before he could get out of the room Henri got him in the leg. 

Gorilla guy still had his gun, although he was bellowing from the pain. A uniformed officer took over firing when Henri stopped to reload a new magazine into his Glock. Henri called out again for the guy to put down his weapon but, cursing and screaming, he just kept shooting until he was hit in the chest. This time he slumped over. 

William acted then. I watched in horror as he got to his knees, grabbed the abandoned gun and brought it to his head. I tried so hard to move, to stop him. I could only hover, helpless.

I was letting Jim down. His father was going to...

William held the gun to his temple and as Henri shouted at him to stop, to talk to him, William pulled the trigger. 

~oo~oo~oo~oo~

We were running with lights and sirens, but over that racket I still heard gunshots long before we arrived. Henri still hadn't responded to the radio, but two units had arrived and reported that they had entered the house and that shots were being fired by two men at an officer, and that there was a third man not involved with weapons fire in the same room as the shooters. I didn't know if that man was Blair or my dad. God, was my dad shooting at the police? He did keep guns in the house, for protection.

Blair wasn't talking; I would have heard him. I had to go on faith that he was alive and that he was okay. I had to function; I couldn't fall apart – Blair and my father needed me. And who the fuck were the other men involved in this gun battle? 

There were more shots, more screams. My father's house, turned into a killing field. This was so unreal but I concentrated and connected my sense of hearing with touch to ground myself, since going into a zone was the last thing I could afford to do.

About half a mile from the house I heard Henri yelling at one of the gunmen to put the gun down, to not shoot, to talk to him. I heard another officer saying that they needed two rigs here, and then the radio channel was busy with a request for two ambulances to be sent to my father's address. 

One last shot was fired; Joel turned around from the front passenger seat and faced me. 

“Jim, what else can you tell us?” 

I held up my hand as Simon turned into the end of my father's street, listening intently.

“There are two men with gunshot wounds – leg and chest for one, and shoulder for the other. There's one man dead.”

“Is it--”

“I don't know yet. Simon, the scene is secured. I'm going in.”

He agreed as he skidded to a stop in front of the house, garish blue and red lights swirling in a dance in the darkness. 

Before he'd barely stopped I was out of the car, holding up my badge and announcing to the uniform who was restricting access at the driveway that I was Major Crimes.

As I ran up to the house, the black jaguar loping beside me, I heard the pulsing wail of ambulance sirens in the distance, ETA seven or eight minutes. One man in the house was screaming in pain. I couldn't hear my father or Blair. 

I held out my badge so that the cop at the front door wouldn't stop me. I blew past him and sprinted for the kitchen. I took in the coffee cups and the plate of turnovers on the table as I ran by, following the black jaguar as it disappeared into the next room. 

I had been smelling blood ever since I'd jumped out of the car, but now the scent of it, metallic and heavy and nauseating, was overwhelming as I followed my spirit animal into Dad's study.

Henri looked up from where he was working on a guy on the floor, applying pressure to a shoulder wound.

The injured man wasn't my father or Blair. I heard Henri say my name, sorrow in his tone of voice, and I knew then that I was going to forever hate this day.

I saw my father sprawled out on the floor, and I knew he was dead. The cop in me cataloged the scene and concluded that the shot to the head that had killed my father had been self-inflicted, and I felt my stomach heave. I started to go to him, but the jaguar's roar stopped me.

The big black cat was standing on the couch, and underneath him was a blanket-covered figure. Suddenly Blair's astral body was before me again, floating vertically a few feet away, and he looked imploringly at me. I reached out to grab him, to shake him, but as I tried to close my hands around his biceps he was again out of reach. 

“Don't you be dead!” I screamed at him, and he looked guiltily towards the couch.

I don't remember moving, but I must have because I was yanking the blanket off Blair's body and dropping to my knees beside him, the black jaguar next to me.

I placed my fingers on the side of Blair's neck and felt the fast, faint, fluttery beat of his heart. He was breathing, but barely, so shallowly that his chest hardly moved. His right leg was blood soaked, the wound bleeding through the fabric still, and I put pressure on it. I quickly felt down his body with my free hand, seeking any other injuries, looking for more blood. I found none. The black jaguar roared again. I looked up at the image of Blair now floating horizontally above his body. I yelled up at his astral projection, “Don't you die on me, Sandburg! Don't you die!” 

I clenched my fist, wanting to hit the wall. I wanted to dismember the two men who were receiving first aid from Henri and the two other cops. I wanted to see Blair open his eyes and really look at me. I wanted my father to be alive. I wanted it to be years from now and all of this in the past. 

“Jim, is he alive?! I had to stop this asshole from bleeding out!” Henri said, still putting pressure on the wound of the man laid out on the floor. Henri sounded shaken, horrified, and I wanted to scream at him that Blair was barely alive, and why had he let Blair enter this house, but I couldn't make my voice work. 

Oh God, Blair, keep breathing! 

I looked up at Blair's soul?, his image, floating above me. He looked so frightened. I unclenched my fist and reached up to him, ready to drag him down and into his body, but once again I couldn't seem to reach him. 

Was he frightened because he was separated from his body? Over what my father had done to him? At my father's death? Or... 

I found my voice.

“This isn't your fault! None of it, you understand me, Sandburg? Now get your ass back in your body where you belong!” 

I felt Simon's hand on my shoulder. “The ambulances will be here in a few moments, Jim. I'm so sorry about your father. What's wrong with Blair, can you tell?”

“My father did something, I'm sure of it, but there aren't any obvious wounds, except for being shot, probably by a stray bullet. He's barely breathing, heartbeat is fast and weak. And he's not in his body, he's floating right here.” I jerked my head to where Blair had come down a little, still floating horizontally with his arms out. He had a look of concentration on his features, even with being translucent.

I had a sudden, unwelcome memory of Blair floating in the fountain. 

“He's trying to reenter his body, I think, but he's having trouble. He needs help, and I don't know what to do.” Simon looked up but obviously couldn't see what I could. Blair's image touched my cheek. I still couldn't feel the touch of that translucent hand. How on earth did a soul, or whatever you want to call it, reunite with that person's body? I wished with all my heart that Incacha wasn't dead and could be here to help. I whispered to Blair, “C'mon, sweetheart. You can do this. Keep trying.” 

I hadn't forgotten that my father lay dead just a few feet away. I didn't think I'd ever be able to wipe away my memory of how he looked and the blood and brains spatter. I couldn't let myself think about that now. Just like when I had been on missions, you dealt with what was needed and grieved later. Oh, Dad. What were you thinking to do this to yourself and to try to harm Blair? 

The ambulances' wails stopped abruptly as they halted outside the house and I could hear EMTs opening doors and gurneys being rolled up the sidewalk. 

Simon squeezed my shoulder again. “What do you need, Jim?” 

“Have somebody look through the house for anything that could have been used to poison Blair. Start in the kitchen. He was drinking coffee and there were turnovers on the table. See if the hospital lab or ours can check the cups and food, maybe find out if he ingested poison or a drug. I'm going to start stripping him, see if there are any needle marks. Simon, get a knife or scissors so we can cut off this damned duct tape. Make sure that the EMTs understand he's priority here.”

He returned with a pair of scissors and took over putting pressure on Blair's leg using some of the wadded-up blanket. I freed Blair from the duct tape, and started cutting his clothes off him, first his blue-checked flannel shirt and then the long-sleeved black T-shirt I'd bought him yesterday. My hands were covered in his blood, and I wiped them off on the rags I'd made of his shirts.

I looked carefully at his upper body, but I couldn't find any needle marks. I didn't want to risk moving him yet, so I didn't roll him over to check his back.

A guy dropped beside me and said he was a paramedic; he asked me if I knew what had happened as he put a pulse ox on Blair's finger and wrapped a blood pressure cuff around his biceps. I explained what I knew, and what I'd done so far, and he nodded. He told Simon to keep applying pressure to Blair's wound. After checking the sensor on Blair's finger, he placed an oxygen mask over his mouth and started an IV line. 

He told Simon he could stop holding the blanket against Blair's bleeding leg. Simon got up and leaned down to where I was still kneeling by Blair; he squeezed my shoulder. Then he walked around my father's body and went to talk to Henri and Joel. 

The paramedic cut away the jeans around Blair's wound and examined it. It was a deep groove from the bullet skimming across the top of his thigh. It wasn't serious in itself, but I suspected Blair couldn't afford any blood loss, or the shock of being shot. After the paramedic bandaged the leg, he put a neck support on Blair, who still hadn't moved, and shined a light in his eyes. His pupils contracted, which was a good sign. His blood pressure, forty-five over thirty, was dangerously low. 

The paramedic and I shifted him carefully to the gurney, and we tucked a soft, thin blanket around him before strapping him in. The EMTs carefully maneuvered around my father and rolled Blair out. I saw that Blair's astral body was still floating above him. How long would Blair hold on? What would he do if a doorway to another place opened for him? 

EMTs were working with the other two injured men, and they loaded the one with the shoulder injury onto a gurney. I called out to them, pointed to the wounded perp who looked ready for transport. “That guy doesn't ride with my partner. Police matter.”

Simon added, “He's going to be brought in for questioning, so an officer will be staying with him.” Simon beckoned one of the uniforms over. “Stay with him at the hospital and make sure he's kept secured.” The uniform nodded and handcuffed the guy's ankle to the gurney.

Henri had been conferring with Joel, and they both strode over to me. Joel gripped my upper arm. 

“Jim, how are you doing? How's Blair?”

“He's not good. I'm leaving to go with him, but I needed to...”

I glanced at my father's body. I was torn, wanting to stay by Dad and needing to go with Blair. Joel let go of my arm, and I dropped down next to my father's body and I touched him gently on his back. Then I stood up and faced Henri. 

“What happened?”

Henri grimaced. “I know that you told Blair it was okay to stop by and for me to give him and your dad some privacy, but we needed to get going to the safe house. I was going to call your cell phone, tell Blair that. Then I saw a van pull into the open garage. The doors shut before I could see who got out. I thought it might be the housekeeper Blair had told me about, but I didn't want to take a chance. I decided Blair was coming out of there, and privacy be damned.“

I said dazedly, “I didn't ask Blair to stop by, my dad did. If Blair hadn't left me a note I wouldn't have known he was here.”

Henri's eyes widened and he swallowed. “God, Jim. Well, I tried to phone Blair as I snuck up to the house, but I didn't get an answer. I listened enough at the unlocked kitchen door outside the garage to realize that Blair was in trouble. I tried to call for backup, but my cell phone didn't work for that either, and I didn't have a radio on me. I made the decision to act. When I ordered everybody to get down on the floor, the three of them were getting ready to check if Blair was dead. The assholes started firing at me. Your dad, Jim. I'm so sorry. One of the guns ended up near him, and after the other two were down, he grabbed it and put it to his head. I tried to get him to stop, but he was too fast. I'm sorry, brother.”

I stared in anguish at my father's body for a long moment. Henri pulled me into a fierce hug, and then I pulled away from his embrace and headed through the kitchen and out into the front hallway. I slammed my fist into the drywall, leaving a hole, before I went out the front door, and the throbbing pain felt good. Outside, I saw Simon and pointed to the ambulance that had just finished loading Blair's gurney. He nodded back, and I knew he'd follow as soon as he could. Blair's astral body was floating flat above his physical body. I climbed into the back of the ambulance. 

“I'm staying. Deal with it,” I told the EMTs. The black jaguar nosed in at the back of the ambulance and I stared at him through the open doors. 

“Get the wolf,” I thought at him, and he disappeared.

We left my father's house, sirens screaming and lights running, and I never wanted to come back there again.

~oo~oo~oo~oo~


	7. Chapter 7

The smells of the hospital hit me hard when I escorted Blair's gurney into the ER. The strong stench of blood was present, mostly from his wound, but also wafting from the examining rooms. So were many other noxious smells. Sweat, urine, vomit, alcohol and drugs leaching out of pores, the odor of anxiety, and the peculiar scent of sickness were all there waiting to sandbag me, and I quickly did what Blair had taught me and turned down my dial for scent before I became overwhelmed. 

Blair's spirit form followed along with the gurney. I kept looking at that image and then at Blair, and everything he had ever babbled about out-of-body experiences made me think he was in serious trouble. I remembered he'd said that there was a kind of fail safe about being out of your body: if you got scared, bam, you were suddenly back where you belonged. Blair hadn't succeeded in his reunification; maybe he had lost his way or was stuck, hovering over his figure until he died. I whispered to him, afraid that I'd get thrown out of the ER if I yelled like I wanted to, that he couldn't go, that he was needed. 

The paramedic who'd worked on Blair at my father's house and in the ambulance pushed Blair's gurney into a curtained-off cubicle and gave a brief verbal report to the triage nurse, then signed off on the transfer. I caught his eye and nodded my thanks; he clapped me on the shoulder before he left. One nurse handed me paperwork to fill out while other nurses efficiently hooked Blair up to monitors. 

A few minutes later a doctor strode in and glanced at the chart and the monitors. The EMTs had started Blair on a saline solution earlier in the ambulance, and the doc gave orders for meds to be injected into the IV since the blood pressure reading was critically low. He unwrapped the bandage covering Blair's right thigh and pursed his lips as he examined it, then ordered a pint of blood. A nurse fixed another IV and hung the bag up on the stand. Blair's fever had returned, and his pulse was still weak and fast. The doc also decreed blood tests, and a catheter. Blair was sure to love that last item. I wanted so badly to hear him bitching about it.

The doctor treated the gash in Blair's leg – stitches and butterfly bandages – and made the no-brainer decision to admit Blair to the ICU. He motioned me to step over next to him. “Okay, what can you tell me about this guy? We've pulled up his records, so unless there's something new regarding allergies, we're good about that. Is he a drug user? On any medication?”

I explained about the antibiotics and his bout with mono and strep. “He doesn't use drugs.”

He gave me a cynical look. “Well, we'll find out. He's underweight, and that can be a red flag for drug use. He wouldn't be the first guy to fool family and friends... Which are you? I hear you're a cop, but I can see he isn't a case to you.”

I glared at him. “He's my lover. He doesn't use drugs, so if you find anything in his system it's because he was slipped something.”

Suddenly there was a beeping noise from Blair's cubicle. The doctor dashed back to Blair's side and I followed. Blair's chest wasn't moving.

The doctor shook his head. “He's not breathing. Let's bag him.” A nurse had already gotten out a kit. She passed the plastic tube to the doctor, but before he could insert it, Blair inhaled on his own and continued on with extremely shallow respirations. 

The doctor took the oxygen mask away and inserted the tube efficiently. Blair was placed on a ventilator, and I was glad. He wouldn't have to use his waning energy for breathing.

I took his hand and looked up. Blair's astral body was higher now, floating horizontally almost at the ceiling. I squeezed his fingers, feeling the next thing to despair, and aimed my words upwards. “Don't you leave, Sandburg. You understand me? We've got things to do and it's a real mess down here, Chief. I could use a hand, okay?”

I wondered if Simon had contacted Steven yet. I knew that I should call my brother, but I didn't want to leave Blair's side. Maybe I was being irrational, but I felt if I stayed with him, he wouldn't die.

And how was I supposed to explain to my brother that our father had killed himself when I didn't understand Dad's behavior at all?

A couple of nurses popped into the cubicle and began unplugging various monitoring devices, relying on the batteries for the transition to ICU.

“C'mon, honey. Let go of him and let us get him situated down the hall. Family can visit the ICU for ten minutes every hour at first, probably longer later on. Are you a relative?” The nurse, black-haired, petite and looking way too young to be doing this job, spoke kindly and patted my arm. 

I let go of Blair reluctantly.

“Why don't you get some coffee, honey, maybe something to eat. We'll take good care of him, I promise.” 

“No, I need to be with him. He's hanging on for me.” 

An older nurse spoke up. “Let it go, Janie. He might very well be right.”

As they pushed Blair's gurney out of the ER, I saw that the two gunmen, with cops there for security, were being treated. I listened in and heard that the guy with the shoulder wound, while needing surgery, was expected to recover. The other asshole's chances of making it were slim, and he was rushed to an operating room. The nurses settled Blair into the ICU, but one at the desk blathered some bullshit about me not staying with Blair. I used my badge and said that he was the victim of an attempted murder and was under police protection. It was a good bet the two men who'd been shot would end up in Intensive Care also, and I expressed to her, a little forcibly, that I wasn't leaving Blair unguarded in case of dangerous visitors who might want to take out someone they considered a witness. 

Also, I told Nurse By-the-Book that I was listed in his records as being his health care proxy agent and she accepted that I had some rights. I decided to skip the part where we were lovers. I couldn't risk being kept from Blair by some homophobic asshole.

So I stayed. Blair's blood pressure readings improved, but even so they were still dangerously low. A new doctor came in and read the chart, introducing himself as Doctor Curtis. He was Blair's doctor now. 

“The lab tests aren't back yet, but Captain Banks brought in some medication bottles that were discovered in the house where Mr. Sandburg was found unconscious. I spoke with your captain, and I'm sorry for your loss, Detective Ellison. Your father had been prescribed Hytrin, an alpha blocker drug used to lower blood pressure and help with prostrate problems. There is a significant amount of this medication missing from the bottle and, while I don't know for sure yet, judging by Mr. Sandburg's reaction he was given this drug. It dissolves easily in water and is tasteless. It was probably added to the coffee he drank.”

He eyed me sympathetically. “Mr. Sandburg is a young man and that is in his favor. However, he took a high dose of Hytrin, and he might not recover. If he has other family, it would be a good idea to contact them.”

“No. No, it's not gonna come to that. He's a fighter, and he's stubborn, the most stubborn person I've ever met. He's going to hold on; he's going to be okay, do you hear me? He's going to be okay!”

“I hope your intuition is correct, Detective. And I'm inclined to allow you to remain with him. But you must stay calm, understand? If you can't, you'll have to go to the waiting room.”

I took a deep breath, like Blair had drilled into me a million times. “Yeah, I can do that, Doc.”

He patted my arm before he left, and there wasn't much to do except wait it out. I pushed all thoughts about my father away. I couldn't afford to deal with that, not yet.

An hour passed, then two. Blair's spiritual form never moved from floating near the ceiling. His face was blank, not animated as it had been when I'd first seen his image. 

Simon showed up in the waiting room, but Blair could only have one visitor and I wasn't leaving. He came to the ICU doorway, though, and told me quietly that Dan was doing the autopsy for my father. Steven had been contacted and wanted to talk to me. He was very upset, Simon told me. I had no idea where my phone was, and Stephen would have to wait. I still had the feeling that if I left Blair's side, he'd die. Blair needed me; I was staying.

The lab tests came back, confirming that he had overdosed on Hytrin. He was also borderline anemic. The nurses continued to check vitals, and changed an IV bag, adjusted his IV meds. 

I held his hand, not wanting to let go. 

I had asked the black jaguar to bring Blair's spirit animal, but it was another two hours before they showed up. 

“Where have you been,” I muttered to my spirit guide. He regarded me disdainfully, and I decided I'd better be more respectful.

“Look, I'm sorry. I've been out of my mind with worry. Please, I ask for help from the spirit world. Save him, Suq'a.” 

The wolf walked around Blair's gurney three times, and I remembered Blair saying that three was a powerful number. 

The big black cat roared once more, a series of sounds that sounded like coughs, and then he jumped and melted into me. I felt a rush of power and I gripped Blair's hand tighter, feeling the power flow from me to him. The wolf leapt up on the gurney and lay down on top of Blair. One moment he was there and the next he was gone. I saw a silver cord leave Blair's body from his navel area and spiral upwards, twisting and turning until it reached Blair's astral form. It touched his belly, connecting him back with his spiritual form, and I felt an urge to tug on that cord. I sent that energy into Blair, that pulling down sensation, and Blair's spirit began lowering down from the ceiling. I put every ounce of strength I possessed into _yanking_ him down into his physical body. Sweat dampened my clothes and trickled down my face. I was growing as tired as if I'd run twenty miles with a full pack, but I didn't stop until Blair's spirit form was touching his body. And then his astral image was gone.

His monitors were beeping like crazy and a nurse hurried in to check him. 

His eyes fluttered open and he looked at me. Tears started spilling out of his eyes; I touched his cheek, my other hand still holding tight to his.

“You're going to be okay. Rest now.” He closed his eyes, and I wiped away the tears that were dripping down his face into the pillow. 

The nurse finished with the monitors and I read his blood pressure. Sixty over forty-five. He'd turned the corner. 

Blair was going to live, and I scrubbed away the telltale wetness of my own eyes when the nurse left the room. My father was dead, but Blair was alive. He was alive.

~oo~oo~oo~oo~


	8. Chapter 8

Steven stormed into the ICU waiting room around three in the morning. He began talking to me in a furious whisper, confident that I would hear him.

“I want answers, Jim. The other detectives either don't know what's going on or they don't want to tell me. I deserve to know why Dad died and what in the hell Sandburg has to do with it. Didn't he leave Cascade a year ago? How's he mixed up in this? All I've been told is that my father committed suicide during a gun battle in his own damn house! And I know Sandburg was there, and he's sick and you're glued to his damn side. But I'm your brother, and you owe me! Let the nurses do their job in there and you come out here. Or I'm coming in there, and I'm betting you really don't want me to do that, do you, Jim? I swear I don't want to cause a scene, but I will if that's what it takes to get your attention away from that kid. You won't even return my phone calls, and you're not the only one with a temper. Mine's ready to blow. You've got five minutes, and then I'm barging in and we _will_ have this conversation in the ICU!”

Steven wasn't the only one whose temper was on a short fuse. Ever since Blair's vital signs had started to improve, I'd been replaying what I'd seen when I'd entered Dad's house. Steven had questions? So did I. But Blair wasn't going to be in any shape to answer them for a while. His condition had been upgraded from critical to serious, but he still needed the ventilator to help him breathe; I'd detected two more times that he'd stopped breathing on his own. 

He was in medical restraints for now, to prevent him from yanking at any of his tubes if he woke up in an agitated state. I double-checked them. Sometimes patients still managed to tear out their breathing tubes, even restrained, and without me there to watch him I wanted to be sure he'd be safe. 

I was angry. Angry at Dad for harassing Blair and trying to kill him. I was angry that he'd killed himself. But I was also angry with Blair and Henri. Blair should never have gone to Dad's house in the first place. If he'd been straight with Henri about Dad wanting him to stop by Henri would have at least checked with me about it. And Henri shouldn't have taken Blair's word that I was on board with a private visit. He'd known Blair for years now, and he should have remembered that Blair could slant things, especially if he thought it would help somebody else. 

I'd had hours after Blair had returned to his physical body to think about what I would have done if he had asked me about stopping over at Dad's. I would have told him to wait, that we'd go over together tomorrow, and if Dad had some concerns about me then I should be involved with discussing it with him. 

But one person I wasn't angry with was Steven. He was an innocent victim in all of this, and I hoped that he hadn't seen Dad dead on the floor. I knew I'd never forget the sight, and I didn't want my little brother to remember our father like that.

I kissed Blair on the forehead and laid my hand over his heart for a moment. He'd stayed asleep most of the time, but the sorrowful looks he'd given me when he had roused for a moment or two expressed his worry and regret without him needing to speak.

It wasn't Blair's fault that Dad had chosen to kill himself. But if I knew Blair Sandburg, he'd feel guilty about it anyway. I would have to be careful not to use him for an emotional punching bag, to relieve myself of the anger that I felt burning in my veins.

I left his curtained area of the ICU and stopped at the nurses' station to tell them I would be in the waiting room talking to my brother, but if Blair woke up, to come and get me right away. I'd be listening for trouble, but at least the two assholes who'd been shot were out of the picture. One was in a regular room, recovering from the gunshot wound to his shoulder, and the other guy had coded in the OR. 

Steven lost his assertiveness, his tall body seeming to shrink, as soon as I opened the door and walked over to where he was standing, all alone, by a small plastic table that held a coffee pot and Styrofoam cups. There were several couches along the walls, and an open cupboard held blankets that family members could use to try to get some sleep while the people they cared about were in Intensive Care. 

He looked at me, eyes red and puffy, his usually well-groomed look all rumpled, sandy hair uncombed, and I saw right through his adult veneer. This was the little brother I'd tried to take care of when we were kids, and it seemed like it had always fallen to me to try to explain the crappy things that had happened to us. “Mom can't live with us anymore,” and “Bud was killed by a bad guy,” and “I'll be there, but Dad has to go away on a business trip and can't come to watch you play on the All-star team.” 

I wrapped my arms around him and squeezed him hard. He gave a choking sob, and I held him until he sniffed, and freed himself.

“Jim, I've been calling and calling.”

“My phone's lost, turned off; probably it's at Dad's house. I'm sorry, Stevie, I'm so damn sorry. Blair almost died, and I needed to stay with him. And I want answers as much as you do. Let's get some coffee, and I'll tell you what I know, okay?”

We sat down with Styrofoam cups clutched in our hands, and I felt exhausted; I could smell the anxiety and anguish pouring off my tired brother. 

Gently, I told him what we'd learned about Dad's involvement with harassing Blair and why Blair had gone to Dad's house yesterday evening. There was a lot of missing information that we hoped Blair might be able to fill in when he felt up to it.. 

Steven shook his head. “I just don't get it. I never heard Dad complain about Blair, well, except when all that mess with the news media happened and we thought he had been playing you. But he knew Sandburg had given up his career to make things right; we talked about it at the time.” He narrowed his eyes. “What aren't you telling me, Jim?”

I shrugged. It wasn't like I was going to keep Blair my dirty little secret or anything.

“Before Blair left Cascade last year, we had been lovers for a while. But Dad didn't know that. We didn't tell anybody. Things got fucked up, or to be truthful, _I_ fucked things up and Blair left. I didn't see him again till very recently. He was considered a possible suspect in a murder case that I was investigating. We did a lot of talking and we're together again. Steven, he's good for me, and I love the guy.”

Steven's eyes widened but he didn't interrupt. 

“I was going to tell Dad. I knew he wouldn't like it, but I thought he'd come around after he got to really know Blair.”

I shoved a hand through my hair, frustrated all over again with Dad. God. 

“I dunno, Stevie. Maybe he resented Blair after the dissertation mess and wanted him gone from my life. Maybe he already thought we were lovers and it repulsed him. We might never know why he did what he did. I think he shot himself on impulse, though, because he knew the police were on to him and would find out that he'd drugged Blair. The two thugs that had the shootout with the cops, Henri Brown heard enough of their talk to realize Dad had hired them to get rid of Blair's body.”

“You and Blair... he's your boyfriend? Is he going to be okay?” Steven sounded a little bewildered, but then I'd thrown a lot of stuff at him.

“It was touch and go for a while, but he's gonna make it. I had to stay with him, or I think he might have just let go and passed on.”

“I didn't know that you still did anything with guys. I thought it had been just a teenage thing.” Steven had spied on me a few times, when there had been some mutual groping with guy friends when I was a kid, but he'd kept my secret.

“I guess you could say that I'm bi; I don't really care for labels. Anyway, Blair is it for me, for the rest of our lives. I hope you'll give him a chance, Steven.”

Steven scrubbed his hands over his face. “I don't dislike Blair. I just don't know him very well. You're my brother, and I don't want to lose touch with you ever again. If Blair's with you, then it's okay with me, and we'll be fine. Invite me to dinner sometimes, and I'll do the same for you guys. Come on out to the racetrack, have some fun. I seem to recall that Blair had some kind of whacky system for betting, didn't he? I remember him being teased by your friends.”

“Yeah, he did.” I almost smiled, remembering how Blair had ducked behind me, when it looked like he was being hassled by the guys, and how protective I'd felt about him. Then l'd realized he was laughing at them, safely ensconced behind me, and that he probably deserved whatever they wanted to dish out to him. I knew he wouldn't be hurt. So I'd stopped being his shield and let the guys grab him. In truth, that strong, protective reaction had made me feel uncomfortable, and I'd wanted to distance myself a little from feeling his body so close to mine. 

“Jim, I know there's an autopsy being done. And I'll tell you what I'm hoping. I'm praying that Dad had a brain tumor or some other medical problem that made him act the way he did.”

“I'll be praying right along with you. What do you want to do about a service? Have a public one or just the family?”

We talked it over and decided to keep the service private, only family, really, and Sally. Poor Sally had been told about Dad's death. She couldn't return to the house since it was a crime scene so she was staying with her sister. Steven said Sally had cried so hard when she was told what had happened that her sister had been afraid she'd have to drive Sally to the hospital for a shot of Valium. 

I heard Blair start to stir, and I told Steven I had to go back. We hugged again, and then he left to go home to try to get some sleep.

I didn't see me getting any sleep for the rest of the night. Blair sometimes called me a watchman, and that was what I would be for him. I'd know if he developed any other problems; if he had another out-of-body experience that went south, then I'd ask for reinforcements from the spirit world to keep him here with me.

I shoved my angry feelings down deep inside me. They could wait. I wasn't going to deal with them anytime soon.

~oo~oo~oo~oo~


	9. Chapter 9

 

_We expect him to be weaned off the ventilator by early afternoon, Detective Ellison. His blood pressure is still fluctuating but he's in no danger. Once it's stabilized he'll be moved to a regular room. We'll probably keep him for observation after stopping his meds, see how he does. He'll be released when his vitals have remained stable for at least twelve hours._

I understood what I was hearing, the words having clarified from burbles to sounds that made sense. I forced my eyes to open, and blearily took in my surroundings. Jim. A doctor. I was still in ICU, and a machine was breathing for me. I started to panic, felt my heartbeat start to zoom up, then I forced myself to calm down. I'd been on ventilators before. I knew how they worked and how the dryness in my throat was to be expected. I had to keep control of myself and not fight the machine. I attempted to move my hand to get the doc's attention, but I was in restraints. 

Jim noticed though. God, Jim. I'd put him through hell, and I couldn't talk to him. Shit, I couldn't even write a note that I was so sorry for my screw-up. Jim's dad was dead because of me. Me. This was all my fault.

Jim covered my hand with his, stopping my frantic tugging at the wrist restraint. 

“Settle down, Chief. Doc, can these come off? He's awake and the restraints are making him squirrely.” 

Jim sounded way too together considering his father had just been killed by my stupid actions. God, it had seemed like a good idea to go talk to William, reassure him that Jim was fine and let him know I was open to being there for him. Hind-sight was so not helpful in dealing with the here and now. Poor Jim, he'd become close to his dad and this had to be killing him.

I cocked my head and gazed at him, doing my aura trick. Jim's aura had changed since I'd last examined him; the muddy red of anger and the deep blue signifying sadness were strong, dominating it. 

I heard the monitor beeping an alarm; with a sickening lurch in my gut, I dropped back into the material world. I saw sparkles dancing and flickering and remembered I'd seen those tiny colorful lights right before I'd passed out at William's house. That was my last thought before my vision tunneled and turned black.

~oo~oo~oo~oo~

_”He's coming around. Blood pressure is better. It's odd that he fainted like that, when he was lying down and not exerting himself. Does he have a history of fainting or a seizure disorder?“_

_“No. Well, not that he's told me about, but I hadn't seen him for a year till recently, so I'm not sure if he's had problems before. He's been sick, maybe that had something to do with it.”_

That was Jim. Okay. Who was the other guy, and what were they talking about? My head was pounding and I wasn't sure what was going on, except I recognized I was on a ventilator. Oh, joy. I opened my eyes and stared at Jim's worried face leaning over mine.

“You back with us, Chief? Know where you are?”

I shrugged. I was in the hospital. Then I remembered why I was there and what I had been doing. I nodded and pulled at my wrists restraints. I wanted to touch Jim. 

“I'm ordering an EEG. I don't like that after improving for hours he had a setback for no apparent reason.” 

I made a face.

“What about the restraints, Doc? Can they come off while he's awake? I'll be here to watch him and if he starts pulling at any tubes I'll put them back on. I was a medic in the Army, so I've had training.”

I tried to look intelligent for the doc, nodding at Jim's words and attempting to convey that I'd be cooperative. 

“Call the nurse to put the restraints back on if he tries to remove anything, but for the time being the restraints can come off. If he falls asleep, I want him restrained again. It's for his own protection.”

Yeah, Jim was very familiar with the concept of restraining me for my own protection. He was kind of a pro by now. I formed the “okay” sign with my fingers, and the doctor unexpectedly laughed.

“I'll tell the nurse to take him out of the restraints after the EEG is set up. Most people find attaching the electrodes annoying and I'd rather he didn't try to interfere.”

Jim captured my hand and I squeezed his fingers. God, he had to be hurting so badly. I had been aware of everything that had happened, thanks to my astral body taking notes, and it had been horrible. And Jim, I think he saved me. I remembered the wolf and the jaguar and Jim pulling me down into my body.

I didn't remember anything after that, though. Not until I woke up a little while ago. Before I apparently had fainted. 

Jim leaned down, his breath tickling my ear.

“Don't do the aura thing anymore, Blair. You aren't up to it,” he whispered, then straightened.

Oh. I guess I had used up too much energy and it had triggered me into fainting, kind of like when I'd removed the negative energy from Jim and had passed out. Man, doing spiritual stuff must relate a lot to how fit you were physically. I resolved to research this more sometime later. Now, I needed to focus on Jim.

The doc left the room and Jim looked at me sternly. “Really, don't do shaman stuff. Incacha wouldn't do a healing if he was sick or tired. You've got to regain your strength. Probably you should have held off on doing that extraction ritual a few days ago and, uh, balancing my aura and everything else that you've done so far, but I guess I'd forgotten about that aspect of it.” 

Hmm. Jim was remembering things relating to Incacha's shamanic practices – probably because he was more accepting of his spiritual self than he had ever been. That was good. Maybe it would help him weather this latest terrible assault on his well-being.

I worked at conveying with my expression – as much as one can express themselves with a ventilator covering half their face – that I wouldn't read his aura again, and that I didn't regret helping him earlier on our road trip one little bit. I squeezed his hand again and hoped he could tell how sorry I was for what had happened to his dad.

“Look, Blair. It wasn't your fault, what Dad did. I know you and I know you're beating yourself up. Cut it out. Now, about how well you follow directions? We'll discuss that when you're feeling better.”

I shuddered, remembering William holding the gun to his head and firing, and how helpless I had been to stop him. Jim was being kind, saying that it wasn't my fault. This whole mess was like a line of dominoes, and I had pushed the first one over by going to William's house without clearing it with Jim, or at least telling Henri that William had asked to see me. I shouldn't have let him think it was Jim's idea. 

I started breathing counter to the rhythm of the machine and feeling panicky again, but Jim gently cupped his hands on my face and made me look at him. 

“C'mon, Chief. Nice and easy, you're okay. Stop fighting, all right? Just look at me, and let the machine do the work.”

I did as he said, and the panic started to subside. I felt traitorous tears well up, and embarrassed, brooded that Jim had seen me cry more since I'd left Sweetwater with him than he had during all the years I'd lived with him. 

“We're okay, Blair. Just concentrate on getting better and no more witch doctor stunts, at least for a while.” 

I couldn't stop the tears flowing and I felt a sob building up in my chest and I didn't want to be like this! 

I guess my feelings showed because Jim tapped my forehead.

“What's the number of pi, Blair.”

I guess I looked bewildered, because he repeated the question.

Involuntarily, I flashed on the answer. 3.141

“Okay, good. I see that you remembered it. Now take it to the next couple of decimal places. What's the answer?

It took me a while to do the math before I got the answer. 3.14159

“Okay, genius. Keep on going.”

I got it suddenly. Jim was helping me to not lose it by having me do problems in my head. You can't panic or cry while you're doing logical thinking such as math. I closed my eyes so I could concentrate on my calculations.

3.1415926.

I kept working on pi until I felt myself slipping into sleep. 

When I woke up, it was because of the strong smell of the glue that a technician was using to attach electrodes to my scalp. 

I automatically looked around for Jim, to see if the smell was bothering him, but instead of Jim, Joel was there. 

He patted my arm.

“Jim's gone down to find some coffee, get something to eat. He'll be back soon.”

I attempted to look upwards, and the technician, a bald dude with tattoos on his arms, started talking to me, telling me what he was doing and for me to lie still. 

I did. The doctor had said I could have my hands free after the EEG was set up so I didn't want to delay the guy. 

Jim came into the room shortly after bald dude left, and I suspected he'd been waiting until the sharp, pungent smell of the glue had dissipated. 

Jim didn't wait for a nurse to undo my wrists and ankles, he freed me himself.

I moved my arms, shifted my legs, glad to have range of motion again. 

Joel patted me on the arm and said, apologetically, “Blair, I know you're not really up to answering questions, and I'll get a full statement from you later, but I wanted to ask you just one or two things. I'll stop if you become upset, okay? Is that all right?”

I nodded, and made scribbling motions with my hands.

Joel placed a notebook on my lap and a pen in my hand. The first thing I wrote was a request to have the bed raised up. 

After I was more comfortable, Joel asked me if I had overheard, or if William had told me, who he had contacted to send those thugs out to the house. 

“To take my dead body away?” I printed.

He nodded. 

“No,”I wrote. Then I added, “Sorry. What happened to those guys?”

Jim answered, having read my writing upside down. “One died in the OR, the other asshole is recovering nicely so he can stand trial. We're trying to flip him on his boss but he isn't cooperating.”

I printed, a little dismayed at how much effort this was taking, “I didn't hear William make a phone call, but one of them said his boss was going to charge William double because he jumped the gun.” Tired, I laid the pen down.

Joel lifted the notebook and pen and handed it to Jim. “Thanks, Blair. I'll be back after you can talk, when you feel up to a statement.” He patted me on the arm again and left after motioning to Jim to follow him out of the ICU.

I figured they stepped out to discuss the case, and I guessed that directive for me to not be involved in police work was why. That or Joel figured I might become upset over what he had to say to Jim. Maybe he was right. I'd been struggling to keep it together ever since I'd woken up, and anyway, Jim would tell me later what he'd said. 

The hospital bed gadget had been left in my reach, and I used it to lower the bed back down. I was sleepy again and decided I'd rest my eyes for a little while. When Jim came back in I'd tell him to go home and try to sleep. Poor guy seemed exhausted, and he could use some time in a real bed. Our bed. I wished I was home and in our bed. 

Jim and I would have to talk. I needed to take responsibility for my fuck-up. And I was worried about him. He'd lost his father, and in such a terrible way. Jim's default was to deny and repress his feelings, and that would just damage him again. I wanted to help Jim release the anger and sadness I'd seen in his aura. 

But Jim had said that we were okay. I drifted off to sleep clinging to that hope.

~oo~oo~oo~oo~


	10. Chapter 10

“How are you doing, Jim?” Simon beckoned me into his office and pointed to a seat after handing me a cup of coffee. I'd left a message with Rhonda earlier that I needed to see Simon after he returned from a task force meeting with the DEA.

I'd grown to dislike that question, though I knew that everybody who'd asked me that since Dad's death a month ago was only being kind. I usually responded to their inquiries with a simple answer designed to stop any follow-up questions. However, Simon knew me better than most people and he'd always been talented at not accepting any smoke I'd ever tried to blow up his ass. 

“Well, sir, I think my notoriety is starting to die down a little around here. McHenry punching out Chavez while they both were assigned to security for the Mayor's last shindig has taken the spotlight away from me. Having a news crew film the whole fight and the loud accusations about Chavez sleeping with McHenry's wife is more interesting to the gossipers these days than rehashing how my father tried to kill my lover, and then committed suicide.”

The week following my father's death had been the worst. Hearing your family's name on the six o'clock news was such a breach of privacy, but I'd expected it. The news stories hinted strongly that my father had tried to kill Blair due to resentment about Blair lying about me in his dissertation, although later newscasts speculated that the attack was because Dad couldn't stand my big gay love for Blair. 

Bergman's fall from grace was also covered and Blair's name mentioned as his alleged victim. Some newscasters decided that two attempts in two days by two different people to kill Blair was funny in a way and spun their report that way. “Well, John, one man who only recently returned to Cascade has eluded the Grim Reaper twice in two days.” Blah, blah, blah...

Simon frowned. “Is anybody here hassling you, Jim? Because I'll put a boot up their ass if they are.”

“Nobody's been stupid enough to talk to me directly. I hear things, though.” 

I had heard plenty. Blair coming in to make his official statement about Dad's attack had raised the gossip level to new heights. I wouldn't let him come in by himself, despite him telling me he could handle it. I wasn't taking any chances on his being accosted by the media or the cops. 

To be fair, some of the talk at the P.D. wasn't against Blair and me, just discussing the situation, but a lot of it was hateful and homophobic. I'd expected some of that attitude when I'd outed myself, but being part of a media circus as a gay police officer seemed to have turned up the loathing from some of my brothers in blue. There was a lot of speculation about Blair's powers of seduction, and plenty of people remembered when he'd flitted from one pretty girl who worked at the station to the next. “Slut” and “A talented whore” were some of the comments I heard bandied about by malicious people. I would have loved to confront them, but Blair had asked me to let any negative comments I overheard go. I was trying, so I just shoved my anger at each negative comment into the denial closet to deal with later. Sucker was getting pretty full by now. 

The uniforms who had responded to the scene at my dad's house had been the source for some of the gossip. They'd talked about how I'd behaved about Blair -- it had been obvious that he was someone special to me – and how I'd acted like a crazy man, shouting at the ceiling and trying to grab at something that wasn't there. I couldn't very well explain that I'd been trying to communicate with Blair's astral body.

The gossip about Blair being my lover, the news stories about Dad's suicide and attempt to murder Blair, and Bergman's arrest for Edwards' murder and his attempt to poison Blair; all of it had formed a perfect storm to swamp us. 

A month later, we were still sifting through the wreckage. 

Simon's phone rang and I sipped my coffee, thinking about the past few weeks while he discussed administrative business with Chief Larson. 

When the story about Bergman broke, and then the one about Dad, Blair's name and mine had pinged for some of the news reporters. The dissertation mess had gotten rehashed in the papers and in the newscasts. Adding to that, the media finding out that we were in a relationship just made the story juicier. Especially the way the story broke.

The day Blair was discharged, he was still pretty weak. After the ventilator had been removed he'd kept asking over and over,“Are we really okay, Jim?” and then when I'd tell him yes, and pat his hand or drop a quick kiss on his forehead, he'd continue with, “Can we please go home now?” 

His doctor had wanted to keep him an extra day, but he'd convinced him that he'd be better off resting at home, and shamelessly peddled my medic certification as the cherry on top of his list of reasons why he should be released from the hospital immediately. Privately, I'd told the doc that since Blair was conceding his care into my hands, I would make sure he rested, even if he didn't want to. He might not like it, but he'd set himself up for it. 

So newly discharged, waiting in a wheelchair with the orderly who'd offered to take him to the curb and wait with him while I fetched the truck from the hospital parking lot, Blair had been ambushed by an enterprising reporter and camera crew. He'd used his hands to keep the microphone out of his face, and kept repeating, “No comment,” to the insistent questions. The orderly with him wasn't doing anything to stop the harassment, and I saw one of the crew surreptitiously hand him a fifty, which he quickly tucked into his scrubs pocket. The fucker'd been paid off to hand Blair to the wolves.

I hustled out of the truck in record time and over to his side, maneuvering so that the pretty news reporter had to step back so I could help lever Blair out of the chair. 

The news crew's focus switched from Blair to me as I was recognized. “Detective Ellison, can you confirm that you are in a relationship with Blair Sandburg, the man who publicly admitted to lying about you possessing enhanced senses?” I recognized the Channel Three reporter from previous police press conferences, although I usually handed off talking to the press to another officer. I didn't enjoy seeing myself on the evening news. No hope of avoiding that now. 

She must have been nosing around the station and heard that I'd outed myself. I could have said, “No comment,” too. I didn't. Instead I shrugged and said, “I don't know why you think my love life rates a news story, but yes, I'm in a committed relationship with Blair.” I had my arm around him, in case he felt dizzy, and his mouth dropped open. When I saw the newscast later that night I could see the surprise and then the happiness in his expression. I thought it had been worth saying that to the people of Cascade just to see that look on his face.

Ignoring her and her camera crew after my statement, I opened the passenger door and boosted him up into the truck and fastened his seat belt myself when his fumbling took too long. Shutting his door, I walked around to the driver's side, still ignoring the rest of the questions the reporter was shouting. I slowly drove my old Tennessee truck through their midst, Blair muttering at me to not run over anybody, and they scattered. It was good to finally be going home together. I'd been back to the loft to sleep after Blair's first twenty-four hours in ICU, letting Megan and Henri take over keeping Blair safe, but I'd taken no pleasure in returning without him. 

Now, the loft felt like a haven, a Blair and Jim retreat, and after talking to Steven and later Dan Wolfe about Dad's autopsy, I took the phone off the hook. 

Blair'd gotten restless after initially collapsing on the couch and had been walking around the living room and kitchen, hands idly touching books or the back of the chairs. 

I kept suggesting he take a nap, but he said he was tired of sleeping. 

“Between the mono and the overdose, I've been sleeping for most of the last two weeks. I want to move around while I still can, before I get too tired again. I'll lie down later, okay? And Jim, we really need to talk. The publicity, your dad... the case... I fucked up and yeah, you said we're okay but I need to... God, apologize doesn't even begin to start to make right what I did.”

Yeah, I'd been putting those conversations off; I wasn't looking forward to any of it. By the look in his eyes, he wasn't either. I agreed we'd talk, but I reserved the right to call a halt and pick it up later.

When Blair started apologizing again for going to Dad's place, I held up my hand. “Let's work our way up to that one, Chief. What do you want to do about admitting or denying I'm a sentinel, since the news hounds are chewing on that bone again?”

At first, Blair threatened to shave me bald while I slept if I answered any questions about being a sentinel with anything other than “no comment.” 

“Jim, you can't draw attention to yourself, and I love you for claiming me in front of Channel Three's viewers, but you shouldn't have done it.” 

I didn't agree, and we ended up talking about me coming clean about being a sentinel. I told him that I still regretted not setting the record right about him lying for me at his press conference. 

He threw his hands up in the air, and shook his head.

“Jim, I thought we'd gotten this straight a long time ago. It was my responsibility to have safeguarded my research, and I had a professional and personal obligation to protect you from the fall-out from my fuck-up. I didn't regret that press conference at the time, and I don't regret it now. And I know that it makes you uncomfortable to think about being protected, instead of being the one to do the protecting, but I made you a promise when you agreed I could write about you. It was, and is, on me to keep my word. You have rights as a human research subject, and my shoddy security put you at risk. I should have kept your name out of the diss, even in my first draft, and should have put better safeguards on my computer to keep my mother and anybody else who was curious from poking around in my research. You had every right to be pissed at me about it. I did the right thing, Jim, but truthfully, I did it for me. I screwed up and I needed to make things right, or I would have become somebody that I don't want to be.”

He did his pleading eyes thing and added that he was worried about repercussions to me if I came clean now. 

I snorted, and was amused at Blair's under-his-breath mutter about getting my septum checked out, since I snorted so often. My septum was just fine, I told him. Then I looked seriously at him, not wanting him to be so anxious for my safety and well-being. 

“Blair, the government knows about my abilities by now, thanks to Brackett. Hell, they've probably known since I left the jungle. Nobody's approached me to work for them or to let them study me. It might make a great plot for a novel, to be scooped up by some special agency, but if the government wanted me, they'd have talked to me years ago. Criminals might devise ways to act against me, but that supposes they know it's going to be me coming after them. They'll do what, blow a dog whistle? Set off something I'm sensitive to, that might overwhelm me? I've had to deal with crap like that before; I'll deal with it if it comes up again.”

“What about at the station? Simon wouldn't want you to rock the boat now.” Blair had crossed his arms over his chest, and was looking mulish. I decided it wasn't the right time to nag him into lying down on the couch.

I shrugged. “I think Simon and I would be all right. Maybe my cases with convictions would be reviewed, but we've made sure to back up anything I've gotten from my senses with standard evidence. The brass might love to hang me out to dry for the inconvenience, but no criminals should walk. Besides, I think most of Major Crimes already knows.”

He'd shot back, “What about your privacy being invaded? If you admit to having enhanced senses, to being the sentinel that I'd written about, the media will run with it. Jim, you'd hate that.”

We'd been standing by the balcony doors at home; I'd pulled him close to me and kissed him. The scent of the hospital still clung to him, and I longed to strip him and wash both of us clean. I knew the reek of disinfectant also hung on me, along with numerous other hospital odors. Ending the kiss, I held onto his arms, and Blair looked up at me.

“Blair, what about what's fair to you? You want to finish your dissertation, and I want to see you shown the respect that you deserve. I can set the record straight, get your name back for you.”

He'd shaken his tangled mop of curls. “I think I'm already tarnished, no matter what we do. People will believe I lied before, or they'll believe I'm lying now, unless you do some kind of public dog and pony show. Either way, without the public proof, I'll be seen as a liar, not somebody you can trust one hundred percent.” 

“So, I'll do the dog and pony show. Read something far away. Repeat a conversation that nobody could have heard from that distance. Hell, if anybody really digs into my cases then they can find proof. Testifying that Juno shot Danny from two hundred feet away and in the dark ring a bell?”

Blair sighed, pulled out of my reach, and sat down on the couch, letting his head drop back against the cushion. I was glad he'd migrated to the couch. We'd been home from the hospital about an hour, and you didn't have to be a sentinel to see he was still not feeling a hundred percent. Shoot, he probably hadn't hit the fifty percent line yet. 

“Jim, what number was compromising?”

“On the relationship rules? Eight.”

“Okay. You want me to have respect and my Ph.D. I'm getting my Ph.D, but I'm not doing it on sentinels. So you announcing that you're a sentinel will not help me get my Ph.D. Instead, I'm proposing this thesis: training police officers to utilize their senses more effectively at crime scenes increases their conviction rates. I'm going to have matched groups from the Seattle P.D. and Cascade P.D. Cascade will just be a control group, so I'll only be looking at their conviction rates and years of experience, that sort of thing. I'm pretty well convinced that if I tried to hold classes here as well, the data would be skewed. Too many officers here don't like or trust me. I wouldn't end up with reliable results.” 

He stared at the ceiling for a minute and then said, “Jack has contacts within the Seattle P.D. and can arrange for me to teach detectives about using their senses to observe and then interpret what they learn at crime scenes. Since Jack's helping me out, he'll lend me some respectability.”

He looked over at me. “You've always wanted to be just an ordinary guy. You aren't. You're incredible, man. But that's your cover, and how you hope the world sees you. I want that for you. I really do.” He patted the couch and I sat down next to him. He grabbed my hand and held it tightly. 

“Jim, if it's really necessary for me to gain somebody's respect and the diss mess is blocking it, that person can sign a non-disclosure agreement and then you can wow them with all the cool stuff you can do. But I don't want you to throw yourself to the wolves, okay? If we don't feed the press, they'll lose interest and find some other hot story. We can compromise on this, can't we?”

We could. We did. 

There was a lot more for us to hash out, especially the guilt he was carrying about going to Dad's house, and the anger I'd buried about the end run he'd done around Henri, but it was shelved in favor of a hot shower, hot tea, and grilled cheese sandwiches. Blair fell asleep on the couch, and I did laundry and cleaned the place, since it'd gotten dusty while I'd been on the road with Blair. Then I called Steven. It had been two and a half days since Dad killed himself and I had wrapped up all my feelings about that and stuffed them too in the denial closet. It wasn't time to deal with them, and Steven and I had next of kin stuff to do. We divided up the tasks, and he agreed to come over later that evening. He said he wanted to talk to Blair, commiserate with him on his bad taste in men. 

Steven made me smile, and for that I was grateful.

Blair was still sleeping when Steven arrived, bringing with him bags of Chinese. Steven and I ate, then I stuck the rest in the fridge for Blair. I wasn't waking him up; he needed to rest – his body had been through the wringer. 

Steven and I sat at the kitchen table discussing the service arrangements and the autopsy report. We were both disappointed that Dad hadn't had a brain tumor; it would have made his actions explainable. Dan hadn't found any other medical conditions that would have contributed to his making the decisions that he had. 

“I can't get my head around it, Jim. Dad wasn't a violent man. I told you I never heard him speak out against Blair, except for that one time.” Steven and I were drinking whiskey. Somehow, beer wasn't cutting it for this conversation. 

“When Blair's dissertation was released to the press by his mother, you mean.” 

Mentioning Naomi made me wonder if the messages I'd left on her cell phone and with her friends had caught up with her yet.

I'd just said to get in touch right away, that Blair was okay, but he'd been in the hospital. I hadn't felt like explaining to the ten people I'd called trying to locate her that my father had almost killed her son, and oh, by the way, her son is sleeping with me. 

Blair really wanted to talk to her; he didn't want her to hear about this mess on the news or through some acquaintance. I really wished that Naomi had a better way of keeping in touch. Apparently she traveled to places where her cell phone didn't work so well. I decided to look into it, see if we could get her something that would perform better.

“Yes, after the media said you were a sentinel,” Steven answered me. “Dad was pretty upset with Blair for a while, but after Blair's press conference he said he could tell Blair wasn't out to take advantage of you, Jim. I'd had some hard thoughts about Blair, too, till then. I hope he knows I think he's okay.” I nodded my head, encouraging him to keep talking.

Steven emptied his glass and wiped at his mouth with the back of his hand. “If Dad was in his right mind, then I guess I never really even knew him. The man I thought I knew was tough, competitive, and willing to make hard choices to do what he thought was right, but he wasn't a hateful man. I never heard him put down different ethnic groups, and he didn't raise us to do it either. And Blair didn't have any power to harm you, not after he committed hara-kiri on TV. Why did Dad keep track of him and get so obsessed? Did you notice anything weird when the two of them were together?” Steven poured himself more whiskey and tossed it back.

“Nope, nothing too strange. When they met Blair said Dad looked at him like he couldn't believe what he was seeing, but then a lot of people have that initial reaction to Blair. Sometimes he's like a hippie force of nature, and you can't help staring.”

Steven laughed. I said, “You know, they met when Blair helped Dad when Aaron Foster grabbed him. Afterwards, Dad and I returned to the house by ourselves, and I think Simon gave Blair a ride home. Blair and I weren't together then, so it wasn't like he caught us groping each other.”

Steven snickered, then started laughing hard. What I had said wasn't that funny, and I waited for his reaction to turn the way I thought it would.

He cried for a little while, sobs taking the place of the belly laughs and I let him ride it out, and then hauled him up and hugged him. He wiped his face and pointed wordlessly to the bathroom.

When the door had locked, Blair asked from the couch, “Is he going to be okay?”

I left the table and walked over to him, helped him up and wrapped my arms around him. “I don't know, Chief. I don't think we'll ever really understand why Dad did the things he did. I'm not letting Stevie be in this by himself, though.”

Blair hugged me back. “I'd like to help, if Steven can stand to deal with me.”

I sighed. A fair amount of talking was in store for the three of us. “He doesn't blame you, Blair. How could anybody blame you? Dad's actions are on Dad, and Stevie knows that. He knows you're family to me, and he'll treat you as such. I'll warn you now, though, he can give noogies as good as I do. I trained him well.”

“Oh, joy,” Blair said, but there was a hint of a smile in his voice. 

My brother actually demonstrated his noogie-giving technique after Blair unwisely mentioned that I'd bragged on his abilities. The initial awkwardness between them had passed and the rest of the evening had evolved into an impromptu wake for my father. We'd all helped empty the whiskey bottle, although Blair only had one drink, and, well lubricated, my brother and I had shifted to telling stories about Dad that didn't touch upon his death. Blair and Stevie had bonded over embarrassing stories about me, but I didn't mind. We'd needed a break before the next few days of dealing with Dad's funeral and the fallout over his suicide. 

Before I shoved my brother into Blair's old room to sleep it off, Steven had lurched over to Blair and announced that he'd always wanted a little brother and that he was adopting Blair. The adoption ceremony shifted from a sloppy hug to a gentle noogie, and Blair let him, playing along by yelping about his hair. 

I think that if I wasn't already in love with Blair, I would have fallen for him like a ton of bricks because of the kindness to Steven that he showed that night. Maybe it was the whiskey singing in my bloodstream, but I felt that I could see Blair's soul shining, bright and warm, and I wanted to kick myself for ever having turned away that kind of love and comfort. I muttered something about that to Blair when we climbed into our own bed. I gave him a kiss that half missed his mouth, and collapsed next to him, on the outside edge of the bed. I always liked to know that I was between him and any threat that might come up the stairs. Blair grumbled sometimes about having to climb over me to get to the bathroom but never asked for us to rearrange the bed. 

I'm a lot taller than Blair, I'm more muscular and bigger through the chest than he is. Usually, when we slept together, he was the little spoon; he fit so nicely against me. 

On that night though, Blair had resisted me spooning him. He tugged and pulled at me until he'd arranged my body the way he wanted it. I slept that night within the cocoon of his arms, felt him pressed up against my back, sheltering me. I drifted off as he mumbled something about it being his turn now to look after me.

My thoughts returned to the present when Simon finally hung up the phone and gave me a thoughtful look. I raised my eyebrows and he took the bait.

“Sullivan gave his notice. Larson hinted that I should apply for the position.”

I was quiet for a moment. Simon was such a fixture at Major Crimes, it was a little mind-boggling to think of him not being here in his office. 

“Is that what you want to do, sir? I'm sure you'd do as excellent a job as an assistant chief as you've done for Major Crimes.” 

Simon waggled his hand, indicating ambivalence. “I'm going to seriously consider it. I never thought Sullivan would retire, though. He's always said he'd die with his boots on, doing the job. The chief didn't elaborate but I gather something happened that shook Sullivan up pretty badly.”

“He was a good friend of my dad's. They went to the same private academy and were roommates at Rainier. They played golf together, attended the same social events and ate dinner together once a week at the country club. I talked to him at the funeral and he was extremely upset. He keeps calling and inviting me out for dinner, to talk, he says, but I haven't been in the right kind of mood to take him up on the offer. He told me he was turning in his notice. Maybe Dad's death made him decide to stop and smell the roses while he could.”

“I didn't know he was that close to your family, Jim. And has it occurred to you-- “

“That he was the leak in the department, that he might have let slip to Dad that I'd gone to Sweetwater to question Blair? Yes. After all, as one of the assistant chief he had access to the information. I'm fairly sure he wants to tell me about it. But he's retiring, and I can't see what good it would do to make a stink. Blair thinks we should let it go, too.”

Simon frowned. “Maybe you're right, but Sullivan should be held accountable if he did tell your dad that the two of you had returned to Cascade. That information was confidential. On the day your dad died, I had a morning meeting with Sullivan and Chief Larson. I updated them about the Bergman case and Blair being in protective custody and staying with you. The timing is right, if he contacted your father.” 

I said evenly, “If he's guilty, then he has to live with the knowledge that his actions helped my father target Blair and contributed to Dad's killing himself. Dad was his friend; that's plenty of punishment. I don't need any vengeance. It's bad Karma.”

Simon rolled his eyes at my quoting Blair. “Sullivan was the one who pushed to have Blair's offer to join the force rescinded. He and the mayor – did your dad know him? – convinced Chief Larson that the department would be making a huge mistake by allowing Sandburg any sort of place within the P.D.”

“Dad might have asked him to do that, and approached the mayor, but as for why? We may never know.”

“Unless you talk with Sullivan, hear what he's got to say.”

“Yeah, I suppose I should. I guess I'm dragging my feet because I don't want to hear confirmation of more ways that Dad hurt my partner.”

“Speaking of your partner, is he ready to start on his new project?”

“In two weeks. He's got everything lined up and ready to go for the Seattle P.D. The detectives who take the classes on analyzing crime scenes by using a sensory approach get CEUs and in-service credits, so that's an incentive to sign up. Then it's a matter of tracking the data for a year. He's been revising some of his earlier writings, just general stuff about enhanced senses, for his new dissertation.”

Blair, with Jack as his representative, and me as his backup, had met with the grievance committee before the university closed down for Christmas break. When the list of Edwards' and Bergman's actions to harm Blair was shoved in their faces, they quickly agreed that Blair's grievance was founded. As compensation, they reinstated him as a Ph.D candidate, with no additional tuition. 

Jack had argued for the university being held accountable for all of Blair's current loans and to reimburse him for any student loans he'd already paid off, but Blair wouldn't agree to that. I thought he was nuts for not making them pay. Blair felt that the university would just pass the cost along to the students. Jack told us later that Blair had gathered a lot of good will from the committee for not holding Rainier's feet to the fire and that several members indicated they would be willing to write personal letters of reference for him when he decided to go job hunting. 

Blair didn't want to work at Rainier, though. He thought that, like working again at the P.D., he would be looked at with suspicion by most of the staff.

He was fond of quoting Nelson Mandela when the discussion would come up about working back at either place. He felt Mandela had a pretty good point, from his perspective of returning to freedom after imprisonment. 

_“There is nothing like returning to a place that remains unchanged to find the ways in which you yourself have altered.”_ Blair had memorized that saying and by now I knew it by heart, too. 

He would say he'd had a lot of good times at school and the station, but he was done now. It didn't mean he couldn't help me, just not on the P.D.'s time. He'd say something about always being my guide, but he didn't always need to be within arm's reach anymore. He thought my senses were pretty stable.

I didn't like it and I didn't feel as stable as he thought. I could manage without him, with the touches at night to renew and relax me, but if he could be there, I knew that I would be so much better. I wasn't letting him know that, if I could help it. He was my partner, not my shadow. 

I'd begun to consider that maybe my time as a police officer in Cascade was at an end. I hadn't told Blair, and the last month had been so hectic and wrenching that he hadn't picked up on what I was thinking. He needed time to regain his health and strength so I'd made him promise not to do any shaman work for three months, and that included reading my aura. He couldn't see the colors that told him so much about my feelings. 

Simon got up and poured himself another cup of coffee and raised the pot, asking wordlessly if I wanted a refill. I nodded and passed him my mug. He handed it back and I took a deep sip, letting the smell and taste refresh me. 

“I heard Bergman's plea agreement went as planned yesterday with no last-minute decision to change his plea to not guilty,” Simon remarked.

“I went. I wanted to hear him admit his guilt to the judge. Blair didn't go; he just feels sorry for the son-of-a-bitch, but I'm not as forgiving as he is. Bergman's sentencing date is in March, but I probably won't attend it. This was enough. I didn't see his wife there either. I've got a feeling that she's going to divorce him.”

Bergman had looked as if he'd aged ten years since he and I had gone around and around in the interrogation room. Seeing him like that had brought home to me that my own father might have had to spend time in prison, if he'd lived to have attempted murder charges brought against him. God, what a cluster fuck this whole business had been.

I put those thoughts behind me, as I'd been doing for the last few weeks. I'd actually stopped in to see Simon for another reason.

“Blair says that he thinks he can stay awake for the whole evening now, and he reminded me that we owe you a steak dinner. Are you free this Saturday? If Daryl is around he's welcome to join us. ”

Simon smiled and agreed to meet us at Robert's Steak House at seven, and said that he thought Daryl would jump at the chance to visit with Blair again. We discussed that if Blair wasn't sleepy afterwards we might all go see a movie or go shoot some pool. It would be nice to do something with friends. We'd been pretty wrapped up with Dad's funeral, and settling his estate, not to mention Blair's grievance and getting his new research project off the ground. 

I finished my coffee and without a lot of enthusiasm left Simon's office for my own desk, and began to work on my latest case, a series of home invasions that appeared to be motivated by revenge and greed.

Tonight Steven and I were meeting at Dad's house to discuss what to do about his belongings. It had to be done, but so far I'd avoided returning. Maybe enough time had gone by that I wouldn't see the image of him dead on the floor, or scent death in the air as I walked in the door. I'd had nightmares and so had Blair. Maybe once the house was emptied and sold – Sally refused to return to it – we'd get past waking up panting and covered in sweat, horrified at what our minds had replayed in the middle of the night. 

In court yesterday Bergman had said he regretted the actions he took that resulted in a death and an attempted murder. 

I wondered if my dad had regretted his behavior, the impulse to poison Blair, the harassment he'd engineered. 

Tomorrow I would call up Sullivan and recieve his confession. Maybe he could explain to me why Dad had done what he did.

Blair had told me how Dad hadn't wanted him to suffer. My father thought he'd given Blair a peaceful death, and had kissed him on the forehead in a gesture of sorrow or forgiveness after he'd tried to smother him with a pillow. I shivered, as I almost always did, when I thought about what a close call Blair had experienced. Considering that he'd stopped breathing several times in the hospital, we suspected he'd had an episode of apnea, the drug suppressing his breathing, and Dad had thought the pillow had finished him off. He evidently had spontaneously begun breathing again after the blanket had been pulled up over his face. Blair thought his out-of-body journey had been kick-started the first time he experienced the apnea, lying unconscious and helpless on the couch, and he'd fled to me. 

I shuddered again, remembering the fear I'd felt seeing his astral body floating in front of me. I knew how to dispel that feeling, though, and I dialed Blair. I heard his warm, lively voice and smiled at the sound of it.

“Hey, Chief, how would you like to meet me for lunch?”

~oo~oo~oo~oo~


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Warning** Discussion of suicide.

When Jim and I met for lunch at Gino's, he tried to talk me out of going with him and Steven to William's house that evening to help sort out his dad's belongings, but I stuck to my guns. Anyway, it was gonna be more traumatic for Jim to return than for me, and I wanted to be there to support him.

I didn't phrase it that way, though. Our conversation boiled down to something more like this:

Jim: “No way, Jose.” _Translation:_ I love you and I'm worried that returning to the place where my father tried to kill you will keep you having nightmares for the rest of your life. So I'm putting my foot down because you need protection from the evil things of the world, and you don't have enough sense to avoid them on your own.

Me: “Oh, I'm coming. I'm not staying in the truck on this one.” _Translation_ : I'm your partner, and you aren't going to shut me out. Trust me to know what I can handle, and besides, whither thou goest, remember? Through bad times as well as good times.

Jim: “I don't have time to swing over to the loft and pick you up. We'll be there pretty late and you should just go to bed early, get some rest.” _Translation_ : You almost died. I just want you to get your strength back; going there will be emotionally draining, and I don't want to put you through that.

Me: “I've already called Steven, and he's going to pick me up. I'll ride home with you.” _Translation_ : I'm coming, but I'll be all right. You and Steven will be there and together we're doing this. And then we'll go home. Together. I'm not letting you face this on your own.

Jim: “Blair?...” _Translation:_ Are you sure you're going to be okay? Because you don't have to do this. I'll understand if you give it a miss.

Me: “Jim.” _Translation_ : I love you; I'm coming. We'll be okay. Are we done discussing this now? 

Jim: “Want some of my pasta?” _Translation_ : You win. But you're still too skinny.

I graciously accepted a heaping spoonful of his Bono Vita Pollo to cement the deal and told him about my mom's phone call this morning.

Naomi had come to see me and Jim a few days after William's funeral. She'd been out of the country playing tour guide for her boyfriend when the messages we'd sent out into the universe had finally caught up to her. She'd left her boyfriend at their rented villa outside of Rome and flown to Cascade.

It had been wonderful to see her. As I'd expected, Mom was accepting of Jim and me having a sexual relationship, and earnest and sincere with her condolences on William's death. She maneuvered Jim out the door on a quest to find organic tongue so she could make me my favorite dish and then sat down with me to go over her real agenda -- a heart-to-heart chat on the follies of committing oneself to a permanent relationship. I'd had to be a little insistent that I wanted to grow old with Jim, and she'd given me the “I hear that, Sweetie” response. I had the feeling that she suspected I was just going through a phase. 

Horrified about the attempts on my life, she'd tried to persuade me to come away with her to Rome and stay with her and Thomas. She assured me that he would welcome my company. Naomi has a strong flight response to stressful situations, but I was trying to not emulate her in that regard. I just smiled at her and shook my head. Anyway, Naomi's boyfriends never were as enthralled with my company when I did visit her as she believed they were.

I told her then about how I'd learned to read auras. Also, that until I'd gotten over being ill, I'd promised to not do it. 

She thought that was wise, and we discussed the relationship between health and spiritual wellness for a while. Then I set up candles and we meditated together until Jim came home, triumphant with his package of tongue and other needed groceries. 

It had been a good visit for the three days she'd stayed, and she promised to come see me again when Thomas returned to the States. He'd rented the villa for several more months, and they had plans to travel in Spain and France and Portugal after that, so I didn't expect to see her until summertime rolled around. 

“Chief, what'd your mom say when she called this morning?” Jim asked.

“Oh, Mom's great. She's teaching Thomas to meditate and they had a nice time visiting Ostia Antica. She said I would really love seeing the ruins of Portus. They're going next to Naples, visit the botanical garden there and some of the churches and museums. Thomas is a bit of a history buff.”

“Wish you'd taken her up on her offer to go stay with her and the boyfriend?” Jim said, and smiled toothily at me.

I smacked him on the arm. “Uh, no. I'd like to travel with you someday and play tourist, though.”

Jim smiled at me again, a real one this time, and dumped more pasta on my plate.

He dropped me off later at the loft, and I trudged up the stairs instead of taking my chances with the elevator. I had started to walk maybe two miles a day, and my stamina was increasing. The overdose I'd experienced plus the remnants of mono and strep had done a number on me; it had made me determined to regain the strength I'd lost. I'd talked to Jim about going to the gym with him, and he was eager to show me the ropes on strength training as soon as he decided I was recovered enough. I still fell asleep way too easily for his peace of mind.

I hung up my new leather jacket – Christmas present from Jim – and flopped onto the couch. I could do some more work on my diss or go over my lesson plans again for teaching the Seattle detectives to work with their senses more effectively at crime scenes. I could meditate. I really needed to get myself centered sometime before Steven came by this evening to pick me up, so that I could handle myself and be a help to Jim, not a hindrance. I had learned to walk by the fountain where Alex had drowned me, so I could learn to walk into William's house and not have my heartbeat hit the roof.

So meditation was definitely on the agenda for this afternoon. But right now? 

Nap time.

I trudged upstairs and stripped down to my boxers and climbed into Jim's bed. 

Our bed.

I yawned and scrunched around, adjusting the pillows until I was comfortable and ready to slide into sleep, accompanied by the sound of rain dropping on the skylight. 

When I woke up, it was raining even harder, and I was reluctant to get up right away. I'd slept in this bed, Jim's bed, every night since I'd been released from the hospital. 

We'd held each other at night, bonding in simple human comfort and reassurance. Until the night I'd felt well enough and Jim was ready to be distracted from his grieving.

He started out by being so careful with me, using his tongue and fingers to awaken my arousal. He'd had me shaking with pleasure and need, incoherent, pleading for completion, and he'd given it to me. No holding back, no bringing me to the brink of orgasm and then taking it away again.

He was tender and loving and straightforward, and I wanted him to feel like I did, muscles melted into such a relaxed state, so that he would be able to truly rest. It had been so hard on him, his dad killing himself. Witih all the media crap, the assholes at the station, and missing his dad so much, well, Jim was stressed and his body was telling him about it in the form of headaches and muscular tension. I'd been giving him neck and back rubs and it helped, but that night I wanted more for him.

I could've given him a blow job, or gotten him off with my hands, but I didn't think doing that would relax him enough. He needed to get sweaty and move, burn up the adrenaline from the anger I knew he'd been experiencing for almost two weeks, even if he didn't show it towards me. So I asked him to fuck me.

We hadn't done that together since before I'd left Cascade. It was time. 

Jim played with me, opening me up, but I was so relaxed from my earlier orgasm that even though I hadn't had this kind of sex for a long time, everything went smoothly. 

When his fingers, slick with lube, caressed me, my arousal returned with a vengeance.

He lifted my legs over his shoulders and shoved a pillow under me, raising my ass to the right angle. He told me to look in his eyes, and I did, as he returned to opening me up, and I could see need, and love, and lust. 

“You're mine, Blair. Say it.”

“M'yours.”

“Say it again.”

“J... Jim. I'm yours. Always, Enqueri.”

Jim made a sound of gratification, of satisfaction, primal and territorial, and then he began to enter me, slow, so slow; I pushed myself to meet him, to balance his energies with mine, and my body opened to his, as he sheathed himself inside me. 

He held himself in check, waiting for me to adjust, and I started fucking myself on his cock. I had no leverage with my legs over his shoulders, so all I could really do was squirm. 

It flashed through my mind what I must look like to him, wiggling like a fish on the end of his hook, desperate for him to start fucking me.

Jim wasn't laughing at me, though. “Okay, Chief. It's okay.” He bent over me, his hands on the mattress taking his weight. I was trapped under him, almost bent in two, and it was impossible for me to really move. He began fucking me and all I could do was to take it.

I loved it. Jim fucked me forever, it seemed, and my whole world narrowed down to the sensations I was feeling, the drops of sweat falling from his face onto me, the sounds of our bodies slapping together, the smell of sweat and sex and come, and the rhythm of him pounding my ass. 

That sweet jolt as his dick nudged my prostate, the feeling of being stretched, of being full of him, of being taken by him, God, it was so good.

I screamed when I came, the friction from our bodies pushing me over into orgasm, and Jim moved faster, panting, and then freezing, eyes shutting and facial muscles tense as he flooded me, then slowly relaxing as he gave a great sigh.

He slowly, slowly slipped out of me and eased down on his back, and I found the energy to slide on top of him, letting my weight hold him down.

I kissed him thoroughly. He'd asked me to verbalize that I was his: I wanted to hear him say the same thing back to me.

“You're mine, too, James Joseph Ellison. Tell that truth to me.”

He looked so beautiful, so naked and exposed, as he let me see how much he loved me. 

He held my face between his hands, as he'd done so many times before, sometimes in amusement, sometimes in passion, sometimes to make sure I was paying him the attention he thought he deserved, and whispered my name, then gave me an incandescent smile.

“You... I need you like I need oxygen. I'm yours. Always, Little Shaman.”

He drew my face down for more kisses, and then as our exhaustion overtook us, we fell asleep in each others' arms, comforted by our lovemaking. 

That had been several weeks ago, and after sleeping alone for so long, I found that making love and holding Jim in his sleep, or him holding me, was a buffer against the craziness that had slammed us since returning to Cascade.

I abandoned the warm bed for the chillier room and got dressed, headed downstairs and into the bathroom. I splashed water on my face to finish waking up before I went out to set up my meditation candles in the living room. 

I'd started trying to do some daily meditation to help me handle the chaos that seemed to want to swallow us up. Today, though, I'd focus again on what had happened at William's house.

I'd do some yoga first, stretch my muscles before deciding what meditation position to use. Naomi was fondest of the full lotus position, but then she was a champion at meditating and doing yoga. 

I hadn't done a lot of either this last year, and I probably should work my way into feeling comfortable with the full lotus. Maybe use the half lotus, or a cross-legged yang position, like I'd been doing while traveling with Jim across the country.

I left the bathroom and stood in front of our large living room windows and began to calm my mind and stretch my body.

~oo~oo~oo~oo~

Well past relaxation, deep into the second stage of meditation, I opened myself to reflect upon the path that had led me to William's house the night of his death. I had hoped, upon beginning this meditation, to accept the horror I had witnessed, to let go of the fear I'd felt for myself and William and the sorrow that had flooded me upon realizing I was helpless to stop William from choosing the act of suicide. I wasn't trying to erase those memories or feelings, but I needed to be able to consider them without my heart starting to race or feeling overwhelmed with my emotions. I had to be focused and calm this evening in order to help Jim handle his reactions. One drowning man can't save another, and I would not let Jim go under. I would accept my emotions and find the accompanying emotional distance from that day that I needed so I could cope.

But meditation can be a winding path, and I found myself at a point I hadn't realized needed to be explored.

I had agreed to William's request to come to see him that night and to keep it a secret. What had been my motivations for that decision?

It was not as simple as having a desire to help others. I did, I knew that. I believed in it as a way of life. To help William, though, I hadn't been bound to take the route that I had. As Jim had told me, when we'd had our very painful talk about that night, he'd have come with me and together we could have assuaged William's unnamed fears about him. 

What else had motivated me to act the way I had when William had asked me to come to his house? Well, he'd been looking to me to solve his problem. That... had fed my ego. It had made me feel needed. Special. I had wanted him to like me, to see me as belonging in Jim's life. I had thought he was asking me over because I had an expertise in understanding how Jim's senses worked. 

There was more. I could have called Jim and told him what his dad wanted, instead of leaving a note that skirted both Jim's and William's requirements of me. Jim hadn't wanted me to ditch protective custody and William hadn't wanted me to tell his son that we'd talked until after we'd had our conversation. I technically hadn't left protective custody, but I'd manipulated Henri into thinking what I was up to was kosher. Leaving the note, knowing that Jim couldn't read it until later, when I'd been sure I'd be at the safe house, also had technically fulfilled William's requirement. I'd been pleased about my strategy to help William and not worry Jim till I knew what William was upset about.

Henri should have kicked my ass when he found out what I'd pulled, but he'd kicked his own ass instead. He'd told Jim and Simon that he felt it was his fault that William had a chance to kill me. He said he should have double-checked that Jim had okayed the stop. He'd trusted me, and I'd abused that trust. It didn't count that I had thought it was a harmless thing to do. He'd forgiven me, but probably he would never totally trust me again. It was no more than I deserved.

Jim agreed that Henri shouldn't have taken my word, but said he wouldn't have pegged his dad as posing any danger to me. He might have even said okay about stopping by, although his inclination was usually to just lay things out on the table and not have all the behind his back drama.

I'd known that Jim wouldn't want me to stop and see William by myself, given the circumstances, not that I'd really thought about it that way at the time. I'd agreed partly because I'd seen my actions as protecting Jim. I loved Jim, and you protected the person you loved from experiencing any unpleasantness and anxiety, if you could. I didn't want him to be worried about his dad, not if I could do something about it.

Ah, jeez.

There it was again, the way of thinking that I'd developed as a kid from protecting Naomi from learning her boyfriend was sexually abusing me. 

Jim was my partner, and he didn't want me to shield him from things that concerned him. I knew that. We'd talked about it on the drive to Cascade. I had gone with my old pattern of behavior instead of thinking things through. For so long, I'd really only had myself to depend on, and making decisions hadn't been a joint venture. 

That wasn't the case anymore. Jim and I were a team, and I should have told my partner that his dad was concerned about him. I shouldn't have allowed William's pleas to override the essential basis of our newly forged relationship. 

Those old patterns of behavior, they were hard to recognize sometimes. I remembered those black holes I'd seen in my aura months ago and knew I still had work to do. Maybe I would do some reading again on the long-term effects of childhood sexual abuse. I could return to counseling for a time. I had student status again at Rainier and was entitled to use their counseling service. 

I also had to accept that I'd made mistakes, to agree to learn and grow from them, and to move on. 

Tonight, after we'd returned from sorting William's things and lying in bed with Jim, the room dark except for the skylight's dim glow, when it was easier for both of us to speak of personal things, I'd ask him to hold me and I'd tell him what I'd learned about myself during this meditation. 

Jim said he didn't blame me for his dad's death. I believed him.

He had been angry that I'd deceived Henri; he said he was over it, but I wasn't sure he really had forgiven me. Forgiveness didn't come easily to Jim, but I also knew he didn't want to rock the boat concerning our resurrected relationship. Almost certainly, it was still a sore spot, but I would do my best to reassure Jim that we would be okay. His anger needed to be expressed in a healthy way, or when I could check his aura, I'd see once again the muddy red of anger polluting the bright, clear colors I'd last seen.

I shifted my thoughts onto a new path then, fast forwarding so to speak, to my entry into William's house. I would visualize the events that had occurred, isolate them, allow my mind and body to accept them, to review them calmly and compassionately. 

Jim's terrified face when I'd manifested in front of him, the fear I'd felt when I'd realized I couldn't re-enter my body, the gun battle, William's pointing the gun at his head and my helplessness to stop him, Jim's look of desolation upon seeing his father's body, and the panicked and stubborn expression on his face when he ordered me to not leave him... I would focus on all of those images and emotions. I began my task by mentally repeating to myself a calming mantra whenever I began to feel overwhelmed, and then I would sink down into the experience, bringing that calmness with me.

I continued until Steven's knock on the door ended my session. I got up, stretched, blew out the candles, and I let him in the door.

~oo~oo~oo~oo~


	12. Chapter 12

Shortly after Steven and I had parked in the driveway of William's house, the sky just starting to take on the tinge of dusk, Jim pulled up. I told Steven we'd join him in a minute, and he unlocked the front door and went inside.

I walked over to the old Tennessee truck that Jim had sacrificed his Sweetheart for so he could sneak me out of Tennessee without being tailed by any other hitmen, and waited for Jim to climb out. I hadn't realized that the swap was permanent until I'd been out of the hospital for a few days and I'd asked when Jim thought we should rent a vehicle or fly out to pick up his truck. 

I'd felt bad for Jim when he explained what he'd done because I knew he'd loved that truck. Jim had gently bopped me on the back of the head and told me that he didn't regret losing it. 

He planned on trading the current truck in for something a little sturdier, but I didn't know if he'd ever find a truck he'd liked as much as Sweetheart.

Jim got out and joined me; I bumped his shoulder with my own.

“Hey. Are you ready to do this?”

Jim slung his arm around my shoulders before he answered me, tugging me along with him as he headed for the front door. “Has to be done, Chief. Steven and I agree that we're going to sell the place and split the money with Sally. It should be enough, along with the money Dad left her in his will, to let her buy a small house of her own.”

“She hasn't changed her mind, then? About coming back?”

“No, she said she's sure. Steven cleaned out her things weeks ago, right after the funeral.”

God, the funeral. That had been painful for the small group who'd attended. I'd been torn between wanting to be there for Jim and being afraid that my presence, since William's thwarted attempt to kill me was the catalyst for his suicide, would be inappropriate. Jim's cousins were going to be there, as well as Sally and Steven, and I didn't want to make anybody uncomfortable. Jim asked me to come, unless it was going to freak me out, so for Jim, I went. I stood at Jim's side and when things looked like they were becoming overwhelming for him – repression usually does have a time limit – I slipped my hand into his, and he held onto it like I was his lifeline.

The press showed up but didn't disrupt the graveside service. Jim answered “No comment” to questions directed his way afterwards, although a picture of the two of us holding hands, dressed in our funeral suits, made it into the paper the next day. 

The press really liked the idea of Jim and me as a couple and rehashed all the old crap that had been previously printed or broadcast. They'd even gotten their hands on some outtakes from the scuttled True Crimes episode Wendy Hawthorne had filmed about Jim some time ago. She'd given Jim the tapes when she decided not to run the story, but these scenes had been missed by her cleanup of that mess.

I remembered that Wendy and her cameraman had surprised us early in the morning and Jim had answered the door in his boxers, pointing his gun right at the camera, with me right behind him dressed only in the ratty undershirt and boxers that I'd been sleeping in. Of course, nobody now believed that at the time we'd only been friends and that we'd slept in separate beds. 

Looking at that picture of almost naked Jim, which accompanied the gossip news story, I'd wondered why I'd waited so long before making a pass at the guy. I didn't really blame the news crew for being skeptical and pressing us to say when we'd become involved romantically. We'd refused to answer any questions they threw at us, though. 

They'd also republished an old closeup news photo of me looking a little out of it, and, yeah, I could admit it, kind of vulnerable, tucked up against Jim as he walked me to his truck after Lash had set up his last tea party, with me as his guest. Really, the EMTS wanted both of us transported by ambulance to the ER – Jim had crashed down flights of stairs and through rotten floors and I'd been drugged by the S.O.B. – but Jim drove us to the hospital instead. Anybody could see from that photo that Jim cared about me a lot. At the time, I hadn't been ready to really translate that look on Jim's face. Now, though, I could see the love he hadn't been able to keep hidden. 

Thinking about some of the comments and looks we'd gotten back when I'd been Jim's observer at the PD, it must have been more apparent to other people how we'd felt about each other than what we had realized for ourselves.

It had been annoying to ride out the press storm, but we knew that eventually things would die down, that the press would find another story to follow. We'd lived for that day and it hadn't come soon enough 

* * *

Stopping Jim before he could open the front door to William's house, I said, “I think I'm ready. I did a lot of meditation this afternoon, but if you feel overwhelmed we can go back outside, or even leave. Remember your breathing; center yourself, okay? Listen to my heartbeat... well, only listen to it if I can keep it steady. I don't want to trigger you into sharing my panic attack if I do lose it.”

Jim nodded and squeezed my shoulder before he opened the door.

Steven had turned on lights and had made a pot of coffee. That was a good idea although we'd have to drink it black unless there was some powdered creamer in the cupboards; Steven had emptied the refrigerator of perishables the week after William died.

Steven was waiting at the cherry wood kitchen table with a large legal pad and waved us over. I fixed cups of coffee for Jim and me, rummaging around to find some flavored creamers that I suspected were Sally's. Jim didn't like them, but I did. I remembered from my last time here that William, like Jim, had liked his coffee strong and black. I felt my chest tighten a little, thinking about how we had sat together at this table and eaten Sally's apple turnovers and drunk our coffee, mine poisoned with his medication. I ran through a calming mantra and took a couple of deep breaths, before carrying our coffees to the table and sitting down.

Steven suggested that we go through each room and decide what things to keep. The rest would be sold or given away. He and Jim could decide later who got the items listed in the “to keep” section. I volunteered to bag up the itemsto give away and load them in the truck. We could stop at Goodwill tomorrow and donate them. It would help me to be able to do something, and not just listen to Jim and Steven do their co-executor thing.

Getting up to find where Sally kept the trash bags, I patted Jim on the shoulder. He looked up at me and I could see that while it was hard for him to be here, he was coping. 

Good. Jim was amazing. He had faced so much trauma in his life, I was in awe of how he could just keep going and do what needed to be done.

We'd emptied the pot of coffee and I'd made myself several cups of tea before we finished the lists for all the rooms except for the study. I'd had to bat Jim away from carrying out the bags for me. I told him it was good exercise, and it was. I was tired of feeling like a ninety-pound weakling and building up my strength and stamina was pretty high up on my priority list.

By mutual unspoken agreement, we'd saved William's study for last. Guys who were pros at crime scene cleaning had tackled it, and to my eyes there weren't any traces of blood. Despite that, I thought if Jim kicked up his senses he could still see and smell traces of the carnage that had happened in that room. He didn't try to, though. 

Joel had looked through William's documents and the computer to see if there was anything there that could lead us to who William had contacted for the hit on me. Neither he nor the tech wizards from the station had found anything. William hadn't been a whiz at using the computer so there hadn't been any hidden files, and he hadn't really understood how cellphones could be tracked or he wouldn't have had me come over to his house. I might have made a phone call while there using Jim's cell, and the cops could have figured out where I'd been. 

His whole plan to kill me that night seemed extremely impulsive. We could guess at his motives, but nothing found in writing had explained his actions. 

There was another possible way to find out what William's problem with me had been. Jim told me and Steven that he was going to meet with an old friend of his dad's tomorrow, and that probably he'd been the leak at the P.D. That old friend of his dad's, Assistant Chief Sullivan, had been rabid on the subject of me not working at the station under any circumstances. Perhaps enlightenment was around the corner.

In the study, Steven sat down on the couch, legal pad and pen ready to record, but I preferred to stand. I didn't have good memories about that couch since I'd been dumped there, helpless and dying. Jim stood behind me and drew me back against him. He tightened his arms and Steven started asking Jim about William's desk. Jim didn't want it, but Steven did; it was an antique and actually quite beautiful. I hadn't noticed how lovely it was when I'd been in here the first time.

Jim whispered in my ear, while Steven was writing down the disposition of the couch and recliner, asking if I was okay. I nodded, and he kissed me softly on the side of my face.

The ceiling lights flickered and then blew out. 

“Crap,” Jim said as Steven got up and crossed to the desk, turning the desk light on. 

It promptly blew also.

“I'll go check the fuse box, see if we've blown a breaker,” Jim said tiredly, and stalked out of the room.

Steven sighed and stood up. “I know where Dad kept the flashlights: I'll get some in case you and I need them. I guess Jim can see in the dark, right? If a circuit has gone bad, we'll have to call an electrician to fix it before the house sells. And this room feels a lot colder to me. Do you notice that, too, or is it just me?”

Now that Steven mentioned it, it was cooling off in here. Whatever had screwed up had affected the furnace controls for this room.

I rubbed my arms. “It's definitely colder in here. Weird, I wouldn't have thought the temperature could drop that fast.”

“Well, keep an eye on things, in case something else goes wrong. I'll be back in a jiffy,” he said, and left the room.

I shivered, and moved back into the kitchen. Immediately the air was warmer. That was strange.

Carrying a package of light bulbs and a small stepladder, Jim returned from the basement and carted his supplies into the study. I stayed put in the kitchen, wanting to stay warm. 

Jim said, “The breaker was blown and I reset it. Let me replace the bulbs and let's see if it does it again.” He turned off the light switch and efficiently changed out the bulbs in the two ceiling lights.

He folded the ladder up and carried it out to the kitchen, handing it to me to lean against the wall. He went back into the study and cautiously turned on the light switch. We were rewarded by the bright glow of the lights.

Steven came in with flashlights and dropped them on the kitchen table. Jim explained what he'd done and Steven went down to the basement to look for a desk light bulb.

Jim went back into the study and started moving furniture away from the walls. 

“What are you doing?” I asked him, confused.

“After the rats you've lived with, you have to ask?” he responded.

Ah, yeah, I should have thought of that. “You think mice might have chewed on the wires, screwed things up?”

“There was nothing wrong with the lights before Dad died, Chief. The house has been empty since then so maybe mice moved in. But so far I don't see or hear any evidence of them.”

“Could it have been a power surge?”

Jim looked thoughtful. “Maybe, but then why didn't it affect the other rooms?”

I shrugged. I didn't have an answer.

After Steven came back and replaced the desk light and nothing happened with the lights, I joined Jim and Steven in the study to finish the list. The temperature was once again normal, I noticed. I picked up the paperweight on William's desk and held it cupped in my hands. 

Jim must have tuned in to the fact that I was feeling troubled, because he came over to me and asked what was going on.

“Ah, nothing really. I was just remembering how hard I tried to move this sucker when I was out of my body. I thought maybe I was dead, and if I was then I wanted to be like a poltergeist and use this paperweight to clobber the thugs that were shooting at Henri. I tried and tried to use mental energy or whatever, but I couldn't budge it.”

Jim took it out of my hands and placed it back on the desk, then pulled me into a hug, dropping a kiss on the top of my head.

All of the lights exploded again, and this time the windows rattled, too. The temperature dropped so fast that when Jim and I sprang apart, I could see our breath misting. 

“What the...” Steven stood up from the couch, shaking his head, and quickly moved back into the kitchen.

“Jim... This is really weird.” I'm a scientist. I design a hypothesis and then try to prove it or disprove it. The one that I was coming up with I hoped would be proven false. 

I grabbed Jim and turned him towards me and then I went up on tiptoes and kissed him. It wasn't a little peck across the lips, either. This was a Sandburg special and I gave it everything I had.

The windows shook harder than before, the air became colder, and things on the desk and the small table that I'd tripped over when I'd been drugged started rising in the air, whirling in a counter-clockwise movement. 

I broke away from Jim, deciding it was time to get out of Dodge, and the folders, magazines, pens, papers and – oh, shit – the paperweight all were violently thrown my way.

I might have been hurt, except Jim shoved me out of the way, narrowly dodging the barrage of stuff that had been flung at me.

I caught my balance, and then felt myself shoved again. Only this time it wasn't Jim trying to help me. Jim wasn't close enough to touch me.

“Jim, get out of here!” I ran for the kitchen door and experienced another hard shove, making me stumble. Once in the kitchen, Jim and Steven beside me, I saw the crap that had fallen on the study floor rise again, then just hover in the air. 

Shit, shit, shit. I started yanking open kitchen cupboards until I found a familiar cylindrical package, the little girl in her yellow raincoat and umbrella a welcome sight.

I grabbed it, went back to the door and poured a thick line of salt across the doorway. Then I ran out of the kitchen into the hallway.

“Blair, where are you going!” Steven yelled at me.

“Stay put,” I hollered. “I'll be right back.”

I kept running down the hallway and skidded to a stop in front of the other study door and repeated the salt line there.

If the lore was correct, we were safe enough now. 

I hustled back to the kitchen and watched in awe as the windows stopped rattling and the objects in mid-flight dropped back to the ground.

“What in the hell!” Steven said urgently.

Jim hadn't said anything and I looked up at him. I didn't try to touch him, and he clenched his fists and opened them, but didn't use them to hold onto me, either.

“Jim, can you see him?” I asked.

He shook his head and gave a great sigh. 

Bewildered, Steven asked us, “What happened in there, and why did you dump salt on the floor, Blair?”

Jim answered him. Jesus, Jim and Steven so did not need to have this added to their plate.

“Stevie... I'm... what we saw in there, the lights, the stuff moving on its own. It's our dad. Well, I'm pretty sure it's Dad's ghost, and he really doesn't like Blair and me touching. Shit. Blair are you okay? None of that stuff hit you, did it?”

“No, it missed me, thanks to you. But Jim, William shoved me. Twice. The salt I poured in the doorway, folklore states it will keep a ghost contained, but uh, maybe we should call it a night, okay? Let me do some research on how to handle this. We can't leave him to be stuck on this plane of existence. We just can't.”

I hated to think of William in limbo here, not able to follow the path to whatever came next after death. 

Steven looked shell-shocked; Jim noticed, too. 

“Come on over to our place, Stevie. There's a bottle of whiskey with our names on it and you can sleep in Blair's old room.”

We left, Jim turning out the lights and locking the door, and he threw his arm around me as we headed for the truck.

“Fuck you, Dad,” Jim muttered once we were in the truck. “I'm not giving him up, so you can have your tantrums all you want.”

Jim started the engine, and pulled out fast, Steven following us.

“Jim, we'll figure this out. Did you notice anything at all with your senses?”

“The temperature dropping, but then you did too, right? I don't really want to take that stuff again that let me see Molly that time.”

“It might help you to communicate with your dad, but you saw Molly's ghost the first time without taking Niktabi. You don't have to do anything you don't want to, ever, Jim. I'll see what I can find out, do some searches on-line, hit the library. We'll figure this out, okay?”

Jim reached for my hand and drove rapidly, his hand gripping mine, his gesture an echo of how he'd tightly gripped my arm when we'd left Sweetwater, Tennessee. I'd been his captive then, given over to him by legal means into protective custody, but despite the anger I'd felt I'd known he was doing it because in at least some way he still cared about me. 

Jim loved me. I had no doubt about that, and I tightened my own grip on his hand. Our lives were intertwined now probably even past the curtain of death. 

When I died, would I refuse to leave this earthly plane unless Jim was with me? Would Jim? If souls returned housed in new flesh, would Jim and I find each other again? We'd blended souls, I believed, when Jim had come for me as I lay dead on the grass by the fountain. How can you leave a part of your soul behind?

_'You did,'_ I reminded myself, _'when you left Cascade.'_

Jim had come after me, finally, thanks to Simon. If he hadn't, would our paths have crossed again, either in this life or another future one?

“Hey.”

Jim shot me a questioning glance.

“You're stuck with me, you know.”

A small grin stole across Jim's face.

“I'm not complaining.”

Jim slowed down to the speed limit, and my thoughts turned back to William. We'd help him make that final crossing, if he couldn't manage it on his own. He was part of Jim's tribe, his family, and that made him my family, too. I wasn't going to let him suffer as one of the restless dead.

~oo~oo~oo~oo~


	13. Chapter 13

I drove slowly to Dad's house, in no hurry for the evening's activities to begin, and not at all sure that what Blair had planned was going to be good idea. As a matter of fact I was pretty sure it wasn't a good idea at all. This compromising business was tougher than it sounded.

It had rained all day, and the streets were black and shiny in the truck's headlights. I hoped the rainy season was about done, because both Blair and I were ready for some sunny days again. I wanted to grill out on the loft's balcony without needing an umbrella and for us to go for runs in the park without having to dodge constant rain puddles. 

It had been three months since the night Dad's ghost threw a hissy fit because Blair and I had touched and kissed in his house. I hadn't gone back there but twice, along with Steven, to finish up the crap we had to do in order to settle Dad's estate. Things wouldn't wrap up for months yet, but we wanted to put the house on the market. 

Dad hadn't made an appearance while Steven and I boxed things up and ferried furniture out. That was fine by me. I hadn't gotten any fonder of dealing with mystical shit, although this weird connection I had to the spirit plane had helped me to save Blair's life twice now. I was grateful to the panther and the wolf for what they had done, and I didn't really mind anymore the occasional visit to what Blair always called “Blue Jungle Land,” but I wasn't going to go out of my way to look for any involvement with the supernatural. 

Blair and I'd disagreed about this. He had really wanted us to stage an intervention, get Dad, or whatever leftover energy from Dad's life that was hanging around, to move on. He'd been eager to do a séance, or burn sage throughout the house, or play around with a Ouija board. 

I'd thought we should ignore the whole thing. Blair had accused me of being an ostrich hiding his head in the sand, but hell, if we didn't stir my dad's ghost up again maybe he'd disappear on his own, no help needed from us.

We, ah... had gotten a little loud discussing what to do about a week after the ghost had targeted Blair. I didn't want Blair to step foot inside the house again, for obvious reasons. Well, obvious to anybody except Blair, and Blair wanted to try to talk with Dad, find out why he hadn't caught the soul train out of here. 

It was the first time since Blair had come back to Cascade that we'd had a huge fight. 

I winced, driving along these streets that I'd grown up riding my bike on, remembering the accusations that had flown back and forth. “Controlling asshole,” Blair had jabbed at me, and I'd verbally hit him back with all the anger that I hadn't really realized I'd been holding onto until I heard words hurtling out of my mouth about not being able to trust Blair to do as he promised. That he'd God-damned agreed to stay in protective custody and he'd lied to Henri and lied to me by his actions. That he was reckless, that he'd almost died, for Christ's sake, and that my dad was still trying to kill him and that I didn't care if he ended up with twenty Ph.D's, he was still dumb as a rock if he thought going to confront a ghost who _wanted him dead_ was anything but stupid, and that he hadn't an ounce of common sense.

I'd stopped then, chest heaving, and Blair looked sucker-punched. 

He'd bit his lip, and then squared his shoulders. 

“I'm not leaving, Jim. Even if you pack all my shit up, and hey, that wouldn't take long, would it, and even if you pushed me out the door, I'd just sit my ass down on your doorstep because I'm not leaving. I'm sorry I screwed up and I admit I fucked up and you have a right to be angry, but you don't have the right to make my decisions for me, Jim.”

He was trembling with anger, although I could see he was trying for a calmer tone of voice. My own rage, now expressed, was waning, and I went to him, to gather him up in my arms, but he held his hands out, warning me that he didn't want me to touch him. 

“Look, Sandburg, I don't want you to get hurt. You act like that's a crime or something.” I was starting to feel the let down that comes from an adrenaline spike. 

“Well, I'm not a big fan of getting hurt, so we're on the same page there. But Jim, remember that you can't wrap me up in cotton batting and keep me tucked away from the world. _If_ I can help _your father_ gain peace, then I'm willing to take the risks that go along with it. But I promise you that I'll take precautions, and I won't do anything by myself. Please believe me, okay?... Well, if you think you can trust me, that is.” 

He fell silent, watching me for a moment, and then walked over to where his shoes lay abandoned by the couch and picked them up, showing them to me.

“I think I need some time to finish cooling down so we can talk more productively. I, uh, I didn't do very well with following the fair fighting rules; I'm sorry I called you an asshole. After my break, I'd like to talk about some things I figured out about why I made the decision to lie to you, about why I went to your dad's house that night. I hope you'll listen to me.”

He'd sat down on the couch and put on his shoes and I'd looked at him, my body still thrumming with the effects of the anger that had poured out of me. A small voice inside was screaming, “He's going to leave you again; he's going to walk out that door and not come back.”

I took several deep cleansing breaths, just the way Blair had taught me, and told that voice to go fuck itself. He wasn't leaving me, and I wasn't throwing him out. I loved the little shit, and he wasn't perfect. Good-hearted, beautiful in body and soul, but human, and human beings screwed up with each other. I needed to really forgive him for the mistake he'd made because I did know he was sorry. I flashed again on how Blair had looked in the hospital bed, those slow tears leaving a trail of brine as they'd made their journey across his skin. 

“Where are you going?”

He shrugged, stood up and headed for the door, pausing to put on a jacket.

“Just for a walk, maybe down to the harbor. Listen to the gulls squabble instead of us.”

“Can I walk with you? I'll keep my mouth shut.”

He smiled at me a moment, a glimpse of sunshine breaking through stormy clouds.

“I'd like that. I'd like that very much.” 

It had rained that morning, and looked like it would again in the evening, but we walked down to the ocean and along the dock roads without the usual February drizzle. 

Before too long, he reached out for my hand and we walked along in a silence that shifted from tense to comfortable. Hesitantly, he brought up the discussion again and this time we didn't raise our voices; we worked things out before we returned home. 

Blair told me what his meditative Monday-morning quarterbacking had helped him to figure out. He was going to go back to counseling again for a while, through the free service at the university. He “wanted to work more on understanding how not to let those old patterns of behavior that had their origins from when he'd been sexually abused exert unwanted influence on his present day decision-making,” or in my words, get his head screwed on straight.

We compromised about how to deal with Dad's ghost. I'd get my time to see if he'd just go on his own and Blair would stay away. Before we put the house up for sale, though, Blair and I – taking the precautions Blair assured me he'd set up – would do another kiss test and see if Dad showed up to protest. Blair had a point about not setting up the new homeowners with such a booby trap. We could hardly refuse to sell the house to any gay couple who wanted it on the grounds that showing affection towards each other might result in the wrath of Dad's ghost towards them. Or kids experimenting with same-sex attraction, playing spin the bottle, might be traumatized for life if my father's ghost showed up to play by making the bottle smash them on the head. 

I'd spilled my guts about how I'd felt when I'd realized Blair was in trouble, how scared I'd been when I'd seen his astral body and how mad I'd been when I'd realized he'd hustled us with that little “obfuscation” of his. 

I really, really hated that word. I could live the rest of my life with Blair and not miss hearing it come out of his mouth. Blair looked startled when I told him that, then ashamed and thoughtful.

I told him that I did trust him to keep his word to not sneak over to Dad's house, and that I knew that most of the time when he did something after being told not to -- “stay in the truck,” for example, when he'd been my observer -- it was because he was trying to help. Hell, he succeeded most of the time. I'd probably be dead by now if he hadn't used his own judgment about when to throw the rule book out the window. 

I told him I was proud of him, that he was the bravest guy I knew. That I was sorry for insulting his intelligence earlier. 

He'd laughed at that, and told me that me calling him reckless was pretty much one of those pot/kettle deals.

Blair declared after we'd climbed the stairs at our apartment building and gone back inside the loft that we'd done much better this time on following the fair fighting rules. 

I ticked them off in my head. No name calling, take a break if you get too mad, and stay on the current problem and not bring up the ninety-nine times the other guy had done something to piss you off. Yeah, we'd done okay. Maybe Blair would like to do something relaxing now.

“Hey, Chief. Can we add another part to the fair fighting rules?”

“Like what?” He arched an eyebrow at me.

“Make-up sex.” I arched my eyebrow right back at him. 

“Very innovative there, James. I highly approve. I mean, we had our adrenaline peaking for a while there, and walking helped to calm us down, but we could use some endorphin rushes to finish the mellowing out.” He walked over to where I was leaning on the kitchen counter, and kissed me, a teasing invitation to come and play with him.

I sent in my RSVP and started dancing him toward the stairs, feeling him relaxing against me, trusting me to move him backwards, to catch him if he stumbled. I wanted to return that trust back to him.

I pulled my mouth from his as we reached the bottom step.

“Hey, lover boy. Feel up to being the driver tonight?”

He'd grinned at me and grabbed my ass. “Oh, yeah.”

He'd hummed “Baby, You Can Drive My Car” all the way up the stairs until I silenced him with another kiss.

“Less singing, more action,” I suggested, with a touch of a growl in my voice when I'd finished with his mouth. Blair got off when I shaded my voice into that tone. It made him get all flustered when I'd tell him that, but hey, the senses don't lie. If his arousal was charted on a graph, doing that voice and throwing in a little manhandling would spike it right up. 

He swallowed, then narrowed his eyes. 

“Oh, no, not tonight. But I'll take a raincheck. Now, should I undress you, or should I make you strip for me. Choices, choices...”

It had been good, better than good, and we'd both slept like the... I shook my head. Well, like a log. We'd both slept like logs after he'd fucked me. He had started to wear out so we switched positions so that he was on the bottom, and I could do the brunt of the work.

Sex with Blair was fun and steamy, tender and hot. Just thinking of him stretched out on our bed, fucked into sleepy satisfaction or his mouth working me into a frenzy, my hands tangled in his curls, made me ache to run my hands over his skin, kiss him until his eyes had gone dark and the scent pouring off him intoxicating me.

Tonight, I was taking him to bed and rocking his world. It would be something to look forward to after we did the mystical mumbo-jumbo litmus test to see if Dad was still hanging around.

I pulled into Dad's driveway and turned off the engine. Blair was meeting me here after driving back from Seattle, but we weren't doing this stunt by ourselves. Steven and Simon were coming, too. If things went bad during this invoking of Dad's ghost, I wanted some extra muscle around to drag Blair's butt out of danger. 

He was now finally over the lingering effects of the mono and being poisoned with my dad's meds. He'd put serious job hunting on hiatus for a while so that he could teach those classes for the Seattle detectives, but those were over as of tonight. He wouldn't finish his research for probably a couple of years. He would just be tracking the solve rates of the guys he'd tutored on how to really use their senses at crime scenes and while interviewing witnesses, and compare them to the solve rates of guys who matched them for age and experience who hadn't had the benefit of his seminars. Joel had wanted to take the classes, and until we'd gotten Blair another car, Joel had driven him to the Seattle P.D. 

Joel was the only detective from Cascade that Blair had let take the classes. Henri wasn't remotely interested; he was head over heels in love with his new baby girl and wanted nothing to do with anything that meant spending time away from his family. He'd even transferred to Burglary and Theft, to avoid being called out from home to handle a murder scene or other crimes that Major Crimes would have to put a lot of manpower into solving. 

Conner had left for home before Christmas. Rafe had gone to be a fed.

I didn't even see Simon much anymore at work, just the occasional briefing; he had gotten the assistant chief position when Sullivan had retired. Joel hadn't wanted Simon's old job; he was counting down the days until he put in his mandatory years and could retire. Alexandrov, the head of Patrol, had taken it. He was a fair man, but not a friendly one. I didn't see us developing the kind of friendship Simon and I'd had. I didn't tell him about my senses, but I think he knew anyway. I think most of the P.D. figured I had above average senses. Nobody thought it made me into some kind of superhero, the teasing that I'd gotten from Rafe and the other guys after Naomi and Sid had released Blair's diss to the press aside. Maybe some kind of freak, yeah, but hero, no. Blair had been the only one to look at me like I was Superman and Batman and Captain America, all rolled into one. 

The bullpen didn't feel the same way to me anymore. Except for Joel, I wasn't close to the detectives that were there now, not like before. Even Rhonda had chosen to follow Simon into his new position.

In so many ways, it had been Blair who had worked his magic and spun friendships between that core group of colleagues. Mr. Wizard was still not allowed to hang with me while I was on the job, and not even Simon's lobbying with the police chief had rescinded that restriction.

Fuck you, Dad, for all your behind the scenes manipulations to keep Blair and me apart. 

Sullivan had come clean about being the leak when we'd met. He'd said he hadn't realized that Dad was trying to harm Blair. He'd been embarrassed to discuss Dad's reasons, hemmed and hawed about it until I lost patience and told him he fucking owed it to me and to Blair to explain my Dad's reasons, if he knew them.

He'd capitulated, but hadn't met my eyes. Dad, his old friend from childhood, his good friend, had confided in him, told him how worried he was that I was falling off the straight wagon, casting Blair in the role of seducer, a tempter with a pouty mouth and long hair and pretty eyes. Dad was frantic, he said, to keep Blair from corrupting his son. At first, after he suspected that Blair was trying to seduce me, he'd just crossed his fingers that I'd see through Blair's Machiavellian intrigues and boot him out of my home and stop allowing him to shadow me at the P.D. 

When that didn't happen and Blair publicly shamed himself to protect me, Dad had been struck with an epiphany. He'd realized that things were even worse than he'd known because Blair wasn't just seducing me; he loved me. He'd sounded Blair out about leaving me for better job opportunities, for money, when he'd invited us to dinner shortly after Blair had accepted the P.D.'s offer. Blair hadn't responded to Dad's inquiries during the private chat they'd had while I had been sent to the store to get something Sally needed for dinner. 

Now that had puzzled me. Blair had never said that Dad had tried to bribe him, and I wondered if he'd even realized that an offer had been on the table. I'd asked him about it when I told him what Sullivan had said and he remembered Dad asking him about his plans, telling him he had contacts that could make the transition to another city “a lot easier,” but he'd missed the whole “this is a subtle bribe” part. 

Dad had told his friend that I did have enhanced senses; it was what made me vulnerable to Blair because I had allowed myself to use Blair like a crutch and not handle things myself. I needed to be weaned away from Blair, but Blair, despite my dad's best hopes, stuck around instead of slinking out of town, tail between his legs. 

That was when Dad made his pitch for Sullivan's help. He knew from me that a deal had been worked out for Blair to take the abbreviated course at the Academy, and while he couldn't actually be offered a detective's shield and pay yet, he would be mostly assigned to Major Crimes, only doing the absolute minimum with Patrol. 

Dad had been persuasive, telling Sullivan that a frank talk about the problems I would encounter as a gay man if I kept Blair in my life wouldn't stop me from keeping Blair around. He said I was too stubborn for that approach. He called Blair a leech and that it was time to pour salt on him to make him let go of me. 

Dad asked Sullivan if he could get Blair's deal with Simon rescinded and Blair's observer status pulled. Poor little virgin Jimmy Ellison needed his daddy to look out for him to keep him from making the kind of mistake that would ruin his life.

I kind of hoped Blair could rig a way to talk to Dad. I'd like to call him on that kind of attitude and point out that I'd been fifteen the first time I'd shared hand jobs with a friend, and seventeen when I'd given my first blow job. I'd been bi-sexual all my life, and Dad had had no right to mess with me like that.

Dad's strategy had been successful. Sullivan was swayed into acting as a co-conspirator, and he painted such a black picture of Blair that the chief, who'd been dubious about the irregularities of Blair's offer anyway, scrapped it. My dad had also approached the mayor, but didn't tell him his goal was to save his son's ass. Literally. The mayor pressured the chief, too, more out of wanting my dad's financial support than anything else, but Dad's plan worked. When Blair did leave town, Dad asked Sullivan if he would keep his ear open for anything that concerned Blair. Sullivan promised Dad that he'd share any information on Blair. Dad had been his good friend for most of his life, and Sullivan had kids of his own. You didn't stop worrying about them, he'd commiserated with Dad, just because they'd grown up. 

When Blair's name had come up as a suspect in a murder case, Sullivan told my dad, and when Blair ended up in Tennessee, in a small-town holding cell, that information was passed to Dad, too. When Blair and I returned to Cascade and Bergman was arrested, Sullivan told my father Blair and I were back, even though he knew Blair was in protective custody and that information was on a need to know basis. 

Sullivan swore that he had no idea that Dad had arranged a hit on Blair. He wasn't lying. He was absolutely sick about his part in Dad's actions. He told me that if I wanted to press charges against him, he wouldn't fight me. 

I'd told him I wouldn't. I told him I forgave him. Anyway, Sullivan had punished himself more than a tongue lashing or pursuing charges against him would have accomplished. Besides,I was sure any accusations I made would be swept under the rug by the upper brass, even if Sullivan was ready to take his lumps.

Blair told me I'd given my Karma a real boost by letting my feelings of frustration and anger with Sullivan's meddling go. I'd rolled my eyes at him, but yeah. I had let that shit go. The Sandburg influence at work, I told him.

The sound of a car approaching had me checking my watch. Simon's car pulled up on the street, lights turning off, and he got out, stretching. 

I walked over to him and we made small talk, me asking about how his new job was going, until Steven's sleek silver Porsche rolled up and parked behind Simon's black Ford Explorer. Once Steven joined us, the conversation shifted to where Dad's estate was at in the probate process. 

Blair was running late, to nobody's surprise. We didn't go inside because without the ringmaster, there wasn't anything much to do. 

Just as I was reaching for my cell phone to find out where he was, I heard the asthmatic wheeze of the wreck he called his car in the distance.

“He's coming. I can hear his car puttering three streets over.”

We all smiled at each other, amused at how Blair invariably would fall in love with some relic of a classic car and turn a blind eye to its faults, like an engine on its last legs and more Bondo than paint on the body.

Simon just shook his head when the red 1966 AMC Marlin with only one working headlight parked behind my truck.

“Hasn't he gotten that fixed yet? I'm tempted to give him a ticket myself.”

I chuckled. “I offered to buy a new headlight for him, but he won't let me. He's saving up the money he's making from the tutoring jobs Stoddard's sent his way to pay to get it fixed. He's made an appointment at a garage for next Tuesday, since he'll be working tomorrow and Friday doing tutoring. Midterms for spring quarter are coming up, plus quite a few of his kids have research papers due.”

“He doesn't tutor on the weekends?” Steven asked.

“These are undergrads. Weekends are sacred unless it's finals week.”

Blair's car door opened with a groan and I made a mental note to squirt some more WD-40 on the hinges. Blair got out, waved at us, and started hauling out bags of stuff. 

We moved towards him to lend a hand. 

This was going to be his show now.

~oo~oo~oo~oo~


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Brief descripton of a death scene.

Stopping me from entering my father's house, Blair dropped his satchel on the sidewalk and took my hand. Simon and Steven crowded behind us, arms full with more of Blair's equipment.

“Jim, uh... hold on a sec. You guys, too. I know we were joking around a few minutes ago about being the Cascade Ghostbusters, but I don't think it's a good idea to go into William's house with a frivolous attitude. It's not good Karma, and, from what I read, bringing negative energy into dealing with the supernatural can have a rebound effect.”

He gave my hand a hard squeeze and let go, turned around so that he could look us all in the face.

“If William's spirit manifests, he might not come alone. It's possible that other malevolent spirits might come through that metaphysical doorway and attach themselves to our auras. Doing extractions of those spirits is something shamans perform, but it's better to be protected from them in the first place. We should all take a moment and prepare ourselves, ask a higher power, if you believe in one, to look out for us. Or at least try to go inside with the mindset of guarding yourselves. Intent is important, man.”

I'd been hearing Blair's musings on communicating with the dead ever since he'd begun his research, after the last time we dealt with Dad's ghost. I tried not to think about it too much, though, although when I asked why not just use a Ouija board Blair had explained in detail why that was a bad idea. And okay, I could see that opening a door to ghost central and inviting a special guest to stop in could mean party crashers might come along. 

We had enough trouble with Dad haunting this house. We didn't need to make things worse by letting in more lost souls. Or what Blair called malicious entities.

Simon placed his bags on the ground, and gave Blair a skeptical look. “You really think William's ghost is going to show up tonight? Jim said when he and Steven came back here a couple of times that things stayed quiet. I'm not sure that what happened the first time, when things flew around and the lights blew out, wasn't just some freaky barometric pressure changes and wind gusts.”

Steven shook his head, face sober. “I was there, and I'm a believer. It wasn't weather related or the power just going out. Yeah, nothing happened when Jim and I came back to finish getting the house cleaned up, but Blair wasn't with us. It's him that Dad has a bone to pick with, not me and Jim.”

I looked at my brother and saw the sorrowful memory of the night Dad had killed himself play across his features.

Steven made an expression I remembered from childhood when he was anxious and asked, “Blair, that higher power stuff? You meant say a prayer, right? Believe me, I have no problem doing that.” He stepped away from the three of us and closed his eyes.

Simon let out a gusty sigh towards Blair. “I saw Jim pull off a miracle after you'd drowned. I watched a dead man come back to life that day, so I'll try to be open-minded about tonight.”

I said, “Simon, ghosts do exist. I've met one. Remember Molly, the woman in that case where the artist with Alzheimer's killed his lover decades ago? I saw her.”

Simon snorted. “Jim, you were influenced by that witch doctor medicine Sandburg here gave you for your cold. You just hallucinated that you saw the victim.”

“No way was I hallucinating the first time I saw her. I took that niktabi crap later.”

Blair muttered under his breath, “It helped with your cold, Jim.”

I ignored that.

Blair opened the notebook he was carrying and turned a few pages. He offered it to Simon, saying, “Ah, I know you've got a soft spot for angels; I mean, you collect enough statues of them, so in case you want to use this prayer I wrote it down for you. It's to Saint Michael, the archangel.”

“I've heard it. Something about defend us in battle, and send evil spirits back to Hell.”

Blair's face changed to that earnest expression that had been the catalyst for my doing things I wasn't wild about ever since I'd met him. I knew Simon wasn't immune to it, either.

He said, “Simon, if I'm wrong, then you've just spent a few minutes praying. If I'm right, then this is like putting on Kevlar for protection. Please. I don't want anything bad to happen to you or to any of us tonight.”

Simon stared at him and then took the notebook. “My grandma believed in haunts. I'll say the prayer.”

Simon moved to the side and turned his back on us and started whispering the prayer to Saint Michael to himself.

I took Blair by the shoulders. “I'm going to ask for backup. But I'm hoping that all this preparation you've done turns out not to be needed. Surely Dad's moved on by now.”

Blair looked up at me, looking thoughtful and a bit sad. “I really hope so, too. I hate the thought of his soul being trapped here. I'll ask the universe for protection and the wolf and jaguar to guard us also.”

He closed his eyes but I kept mine open while I asked the spirit world for its help once again.

* * *

Blair had organized and packed stuff as if he were on an expedition. In a way, I was glad to know that his hard-earned skills were still with him, even if he couldn't use them in the way he had once dreamed about. 

He set everybody to carrying out tasks once we'd crossed Dad's threshold.   
Salt lines had to be remade across all the doorways and windows. Steven volunteered to take care of the ones in Dad's study.

Blair had made me promise to dump salt all over the house the two times I'd been here with Steven without him, and the scuffed remains of the old lines were still visible. He'd wanted us to be able to have safe areas in case Dad had thrown another fit. Nothing had happened; not even a light had flickered, and I'd had no sense that he was still hanging around.

God, let him be gone and have found his peace.

Blair handed out EMF meters – he'd cadged them from somewhere – and in teams of two we mapped the downstairs, noting any fluctuations in energy readings near appliances and heating ducts. Blair was in full-on scientist mode, and wanted baselines taken of everything in the environment before he and I would try to rouse my father's ire by kissing. He said wryly that the meters would go nuts if William was here and noticed us making out. Simon made sympathetic noises and I wasn't sure if it was for us or for my father. 

Blair had also brought special thermometers, infrared ones that would note any rise or drop in temperature instantly. He had Simon set up battery operated motion detectors, two to a room, and a variety of recorders, digital and cassette, both with external mikes, so any “ghost noises” could be recorded.

On the kitchen table, Steven set out a few emergency candles and a lighter, in case of a total power outage.

There wasn't much furniture left, just the appliances and the kitchen table and chairs. There was nothing left in the study where Dad had died, but Blair pulled out a box of Kleenex from one of the bags and I scattered sheets of tissues around the room. If Dad threw his energy around, Blair wanted to see it and get a sense of the strength of his fury.

There were other supplies Blair handed out, such as small flashlights and extra batteries to keep in our pockets and compasses to hang around our necks. If the EMF meters indicated a power fluctuation, the compass would also spin around. Or so he said. Blair had dived into this research with as much interest as he had with learning police culture or tribal customs.

Blair and I went through the downstairs with a video camera equipped with infrared and documented the layout. That video camera was now on a tripod in the kitchen, safely outside the study salt line and ready to capture in movie format anything weird. Last of all, Simon and Steven were handed cameras, one a regular camera and the other an infrared one. 

When everything was ready Simon and Steven took up their stations, ready to record temperature fluctuations and EMF readings in the small notebooks Blair had given them and to use the cameras.

Blair looked at me and Steven and Simon and said quietly, “I know I'm indulging in science nerdiness here, but I really do hope William has passed on. If he hasn't, then we're going to try to communicate with him, see if we can help him process his fears and anger so he can go into the light. There is a light, you know; I was headed towards it before Jim revived me after Alex killed me, and it is welcoming and forgiving. I want William to understand that I harbor no ill feelings towards him and that I forgive him for the harm he did to me.”

Blair isn't perfect, but sometimes he says or does the perfect thing and I fall for him all over again.

_You hear that, Dad? The guy you tried to kill because he loved me forgives you. And if you're still here, don't you even think about trying it again. He's mine, for this lifetime and, if I have anything to say about it, in the next life, too. Hands off._

I drew Blair to my side and together we walked into the study.

* * *

“Okay, Jim. Let's go for part two,” Blair said. Part one had been me calling my father's name and asking if he was here to talk to me. We had waited for about fifteen minutes and I told Blair I wasn't sensing anything at all. Nothing was registering on the equipment, either.

Now we would touch each other, progressing from holding hands to hugging to kissing. 

I felt the temperature drop when I kissed Blair on his temple. 

“Dad?” I still didn't see anything, but the hairs on the back of my neck rose. Fuck. Blair was right; Dad hadn't left. I glanced at my brother and saw he was biting his lip. 

Both Simon and Steven started taking pictures. 

Blair kept quiet. He'd told me before that he wanted to ease into a conversation with my dad, not enrage him into a tantrum like the last time. 

“Dad, we want to talk to you. This isn't right, what you're doing.”

I halted, not sure what the hell to say to him. Blair made encouraging faces at me, and motioned with his hands for me to keep talking.

Suddenly I felt a rush of anger. I guess Blair recognized what I was feeling because he gripped my forearm and squeezed. 

It flared up in me like gasoline on a campfire, and my anger erupted in a storm of words. 

“How could you, Dad?! Do you have any idea of the shit heap you threw me and Stevie into? You never wanted the spotlight on me, but let me tell you, the press has had a field day with this story. Help me understand why you went after Blair the way you did. Yeah, Blair! So what if he's my lover! You had no right to try to kill him, _none_ at all! I get that you had some misguided idea that I needed to be protected from falling in love with a man, but that's such a pile of crap! Blair didn't seduce me into being bi-sexual, I've always been that way. He wasn't the first man I kissed or jacked off! I was a teenager when I had sex for the first time with a guy!”

The windows rattled and the lights blew again in the study, dimming the room. Simon uttered a “Sweet Jesus” and checked his compass, while Steven aimed his EMF meter at me. Blair whispered, “Calm down,” but I was still boiling mad. 

The Kleenex nearest to where Blair and I were standing rose off the floor and began to swirl through the air. I adjusted my vision and saw something odd. There were all these floating balls, translucent and beautiful, some small, others as big as a basketball, between Blair and me and the whirlwind of Kleenex. 

The whirlwind came closer to us. Blair tilted his head and I knew he was trying to look at it the way he looked at people's auras. 

Suddenly Blair gasped and stumbled back from me, almost losing his balance, but I grabbed him and pulled him close and put my arms protectively around his body.

“Stop shoving him, Dad. It won't work. You can't separate us. I love him, get it? I'll marry him legally when the laws change someday. Stop trying to control my life!”

The pretty multi-colored balls started moving faster towards the Kleenex that was now hovering in the air, and Blair went “Oh” softly and shook himself. 

He said, “Jim, I can see orbs, well, I could when I was doing my thing, but not now, so cool, but you have got to calm down. I think William is drawing energy from you, that's what the orbs are, balls of energy, and the madder you are, the more powerful they are and I can see that William's aura is absorbing them. He's using you to do his Tasmanian Devil imitation. Control your breathing, deep and slow, remember?”

I should have heeded his advice, but I was just so pissed off at my dad. All the times he'd tried to bend me to his way of thinking, all the damn manipulations he'd done to us, his _children_ , that had driven me and Steven apart, well, I guess I hadn't processed all that old shit as much as I thought I had because I gave him the biggest finger I could.

I turned Blair around in my arms and kissed him like it was V-J Day and I'd gotten a winning Powerball ticket.

I caught him by surprise, from the way he stiffened in my arms at first, but he got with the program. 

I stopped when I felt a freezing, tingling sensation on my arm. A feeling of desolation spread through me.

My father's ghost was standing next to me, and he was crying.

The intense feelings of despair I was experiencing smothered my anger, and I sighed, deeply. My father let go of my arm, and I was relieved. And sad for him. 

“Jim, what is it? What can you see, man?” Blair shivered and I drew him against me, his body warm and real against mine. Dad reached out to him and I said warningly, “Dad!” but there was no hatred in his expression. He cupped Blair's cheek and I saw tears start to pool in Blair's eyes. 

“William, I forgive you. Please, please don't deny yourself the comfort the light will bring. Can I do anything to help you?”

My dad shook his head and stepped back from us. One moment he was standing there, tears still on his face, and the next he was sprawled out on the floor, blood everywhere, the gun he had shot himself with helter-skelter on the floor. 

I hoped Stevie couldn't see him like this, in his death pose.

“Dad!” 

He faded from my sight and the room immediately became warmer again.

“He's gone again, isn't he?” Blair asked quietly, voice thick with emotion. He wiped at his eyes and took a deep breath. “Did you get any sense that he's moved on?”

“From what I saw before he disappeared, he didn't go into the light. Chief, he looked like he did after he shot himself.” I pointed to where my father had died. “He was right there... the blood, even the gun. Then he just faded.” 

Blair hugged me and then stepped back, doing his bright-eyed bird imitation to check my aura. 

“We need to talk more about that anger you expressed, but at home, all right? And we should look over the data. Maybe the voice recorders or cameras caught something that will help us. I'm not giving up on him.”

I nodded, and we walked back into the kitchen. 

Blair told Simon and Steven to turn off their cameras; Simon started helping Blair put up equipment. I heard him quietly ask Blair if he was okay; Blair nodded, then gave Simon the rundown on what had happened.

Steven hadn't said anything, was just standing there with his arms wrapped around himself, and I winced when I saw his expression. 

“Steven, did you see anything?”

“No, thank God. I heard what you said to Blair, though. And I want you to tell me about it, but not here. Let's go somewhere else.”

“The loft?”

He shook his head. “I want to go somewhere bright and noisy and full of people having a good time. Someplace where we can play pool and throw some darts.”

I understood. I'd felt that way sometimes after a mission, when I'd wanted to shake off what I'd done. 

“You want to ride with me and Blair? Come home with us later?”

“Only if we take my car. I can drop you both off here tomorrow to get your respective rust-buckets.”

I staggered, miming a shot to my heart.

Blair snickered at our attempt at humor, and I caught Simon's eye. 

“Hey, want to hit up a bar with us?”

Simon took out a cigar and stuck it in his mouth. “As a matter of fact, a drink or two sounds like a great idea. And I want to talk to Steven about the racetrack anyway. Little Stogie is going to run there next week. Maybe you two want to come along and watch him leave those other nags in the dust.”

That sounded good to me, and I knew Blair would want to go and use that cock-eyed betting scheme he swore by.

“Sure, I haven't been to the tracks for a long time. And I'm down with soaking up some life-affirming vibes,” Blair said. “But before we leave this house, we should take another moment and thank the universe for its protection this night, and ask for peace for William's soul.”

He crossed to me and Steven and took both our hands and closed his eyes. 

I caught Simon's eye. He was looking uncomfortable with what Blair had asked us to do, but he nodded and his deep baritone whispered an impromptu prayer thanking God for his protection this night and asking for William's soul to find its way to his side.

I did as Blair suggested, the brief aside of humor replaced by soberness, and asked for my father's torment to end. 

Blair's hand tightened on mine and I felt a wave of sadness for my father. He could have chosen to accept Blair and be a part of our lives, like Steven had done. Why had that been so hard for him to even consider?

I wished I could really talk to him. More than that, I wished we could have talked about his fears years ago and that all of this heartache could have been avoided.

Maybe I should have leveled with him about liking men as well as women back when I was a young man. Hindsight – the path you should have taken was always so damn clear.

Blair must have caught something of my thoughts because he raised my hand to his lips and kissed it.

We left the house then, but as I climbed into Steven's Porsche, I heard the far off cry of a wolf and the faint, deep cough of a jaguar.

 

* * *


	15. Chapter 15

I waited in our bed, my arm comfortably slung over Jim's chest, until Steven closed the door to my old room. The moonlight streaming into our bedroom allowed me to clearly see Jim's body, and I kissed him on the shoulder. He wasn't asleep; his eyes were open and he was staring up at the skylight, lost in thought. 

The trip to Steven's favorite sports bar had proved a successful distraction from the heavy emotions that had affected all of us earlier, but I suspected that in the quiet of the night Jim's thoughts had returned to his father's death. 

He shifted and kissed me softly on the lips, a kiss of comfort rather than passion.

“You were pretty angry tonight with your father.” I spoke softly, confident that Steven wouldn't be disturbed by our conversation.

He let out a long breath before responding just as quietly. “Yeah. Sorry I blew off your advice about keeping calm.”

“Sounded like a lot of old stuff mixed in with your feelings about his death.”

“Yeah. You know what I'm thinking? I should have spoken to him about me being bi years ago. Forced him to face this prejudice he has about people being bi or gay.”

“Jim, you're gonna drive yourself around the bend playing the what-if game.” 

“But if I had maybe he wouldn't have gone after you and the whole sorry mess could have been avoided.”

I sighed. “Tell me, did you ever consider telling him about liking boys as well as girls back when you were a teenager?” 

“No. I never could talk to my father, not really.” 

“Do you really think he'd have accepted you telling him that you liked your own sex?”

“There were so many other things that had gone wrong between Dad and me by then, that sharing something about my sex life never even crossed my mind.” 

“Don't you think he would have done everything possible to brainwash you into thinking you weren't bi?”

“Probably. He tried to convince me I didn't have the sentinel senses, after all. 'Don't be different' is what he kept trying to pound into my head.”

“And you were a kid, Jim. He had the power in that relationship, and you couldn't have held your own against him, not by yourself with no support – no other family or counselors to help William learn to accept you for yourself.”

“When Stevie set me up to take the blame for Dad's car being messed up--”

“You left, man.”

“And I didn't talk to my father again until, well, you know when.”

“And that did send a message to your dad. And I think that when you did reconcile, neither of you wanted to rock the boat by bringing up stuff that you knew would upset the other.”

“Yeah. I know I felt that way.”

“He wanted to save you, and I was, unfortunately, collateral damage.”

“I really thought he would accept us, Chief. I knew he'd be uncomfortable at first, but I thought he'd come around.”

“Jim, when he touched my face tonight, I felt his emotions. He felt so bad that I had to die to save you. He didn't hate me; he was fond of me.”

“I was banking on you charming the socks off him when we told him about us.” He smiled wryly at me.

“You were?”

“Well, you do grow on a person.”

“Is that so?” I said, dryly, but my lips kept wanting to form a smile.

“I mean, I started off by throwing you against a wall, and look at us now.”

I rolled on top of him and kissed him; long drugging kisses that led to Jim doing something vaguely covert-ops since I found myself beneath him with my hands restrained over my head.

He whispered in my ear, “Tell me the truth, Blair Sandburg. Did you like feeling my body pinning you against that wall back then?”

“Mmm.”

“Because I liked putting you there. I was mad, but I was hard, too. Were you hard for me? You sure as hell weren't scared of me.”

He licked my ear and I moaned.

“Tell me, and I'll let you come. I'll hold you down and touch you and tease you until you're begging for it, and then I'll fuck you. Did you like me doing that to you back then?”

“What do you think?”

“Do you want it now?”

He rocked against me and I told him what he wanted to hear. What I wanted to say.

Afterwards, sated and sleepy, I drifted off, listening to Jim's slow breathing, and feeling comforted by the warm touch of his skin against mine.

xxx

 

_I was running, I was the wolf and I was chasing after the one who had destroyed my pitiful hiding places in Blue Jungle Land time after time. The one who had forced me to expose myself to the black jaguar's angry presence._

_But that time was in the past. Now the jaguar hunted with me, searching for the elusive spirit that puzzled both of us._

_I leapt over a fallen tree and tore through thickets of sharp-thorned bushes, then slowed down to a walk. Smelling the air, I kept searching with my keen eyesight for another glimpse of the small form that had caused such havoc in my life._

_Gone. The only trace of the poor creature was the fear-scent still left hanging in the air, but the attempts I made to use that acridness to track the mysterious spirit guide failed._

_The jaguar stalked toward me, and I didn't run from him as I had done in the past. He was my soul-mate, the bond between us strong enough to allow him to follow me past the veil of death._

_Looking me over, he growled softly and tumbled me so that my belly was exposed to his sight._

_I didn't mind. I knew he would never hurt me. He lay down next to me, but didn't touch my neck with his teeth. Instead, he chose a scratch on my belly and licked at it, soothing the sting I hadn't realized was there._

_I whined, torn between the tickling feel of his tongue and the comfort he was giving me._

_When he was finished with every bleeding scratch he could find, he rolled over on his side, and stretched, and I inched myself closer until we lay together in quiet companionship._

_The blue tint of the spirit world began to lift and I had another one of my double visions. Looking down from above, I saw myself as my wolf spirit guide – lying next to the jaguar -- and also curled up with Jim, both of us asleep in our bed, the yellow comforter tucked up around us._

_When I opened my eyes, though, it was our loft and Jim that I saw. Not the rainforest of Jim's spirit plane and his spirit guide; it wasn't the heady scent of sweet jungle flowers I inhaled but the welcoming smell of coffee._

xxx

Steven and Jim had to work today, so breakfast was quick, just bagels and coffee. Steven and I did Rock, Paper, Scissors to see who got the second shower. Jim had slipped into the bathroom when I made a beeline for the coffee machine, Steven sitting blearily at the table sipping from his own mug.

Steven won, and as soon as Jim emerged from the bathroom, Steven disappeared into it carrying his extra clothes from the gym bag he'd brought up from his car last night.

I popped a bagel for Jim into the toaster, and did a few quick yoga stretches while he drank his coffee. He looked cute wearing his bathrobe and his hair was standing up every which way from tousling it with a towel. 

When I'd been recovering from being sick Jim had gotten me to agree to take it easy for a while. I hadn't exactly been idle, but it wasn't like when I'd been essentially working at both the P.D. and Rainier and finishing my first Ph.D. 

I'd only done some tutoring with a few students Eli had sent my way, sent out cover letters to possible employers that Jack and I had vetted, taught the classes at the Seattle PD, and went to my weekly counseling sessions.

Now, though, it was time that I got more serious about finding a job since I had finished teaching my classes at the Seattle PD yesterday afternoon. Until I landed something that was at least vaguely in my field, I needed to pick up some other work besides a couple of hours of tutoring a week.

Counseling had dropped down to once a month sessions. Probably in another couple of months I'd be done. 

I felt good again, physically. I had energy, and I'd put back on a couple of pounds. Muscle, I hoped. I'd started going with Jim for workouts twice a week. 

I knew I could drive tractor-trailers again safely, and while I wasn't wild about the idea, the money was good. And I had bills to pay. 

My therapist and I had delved into why paying off my student loans was so important to me – because it was – and it was tied into my self-esteem. I'd heard one too many jokes about being a perpetual student. I'd laughed while being teased, but inside it had felt like I was being judged, that people were saying that being in grad school and a TA was a way of avoiding growing up and getting a real job. Paying off my debts as soon as possible was my way of saying that I had been and was being responsible about my education. That it had been an investment in myself and I had been serious about getting my Ph.D. Not that I couldn't move on from college life, or something, which was the message I had gotten from those jibes. 

My therapist had gently pointed out that it was possible I was overreacting just a tad. 

I probably was, but it didn't stop me from wanting to get back into regularly making large payments again. 

Of course, Jim had offered to help me pay them off, but I'd talked him out of it. This was my debt to clear. 

Jim finished eating and went upstairs to get dressed. I followed him and grabbed some clothes to change into, then sat down on the bed.

“Jim, couple of things.”

“Okay. Shoot.”

“The recorders and cameras at your dad's house, I want to bring them back home with me this morning, check them out.”

Jim eyed me. “No problem. But I'll get them from the house. No sense in your presence riling up my old man again.”

“I think I'd be okay going in by myself, actually, since I wouldn't be kissing you or touching you, but--”

“But you're going to indulge me and not be reckless with your safety, right?”

I blew him a kiss. “Right. We'll go in together when Steven drops us off.”

“So, what's on your plate after we get your rust bucket?”

“I want to listen to the tapes, look at the camera's footage. William may have said something on them that might be important.”

“I'll listen to them later. Turn up my hearing.”

“Great idea. And I'm going to go see Mr. Brown. It's time I started working again, while I'm looking for a permanent job.”

“Mr. Brown? Are you talking about Henri's uncle, great-uncle, the one that said he could probably hire you as a driver?” Jim's expression shifted, but before it settled on “vaguely curious” I'd seen a lost look in his eyes. Huh.

Henri had introduced us to his great-uncle at his baby girl's christening party two months ago and had put in a plug for me. It was a lot more than I deserved, I'd told Henri. I still felt ashamed that I'd tricked him the night William had died. I'd been surprised that he'd even wanted to invite me to the celebration, but he'd called and said he'd like both of us to come, if we could. The baptism was fascinating, as are all cultural rituals to me, and I'd gotten a kick out of watching Henri and his wife with their baby. Henri had let me hold Rebecca and it made me feel forgiven.

“Yep, that's the right Mr. Brown. I'm up to driving again, and he's got routes that are two or three day turnarounds. I could arrange my counseling sessions and tutoring around that kind of schedule.”

Jim sat down next to me and frowned. “I won't lie and say I'm thrilled with the idea of you being on the road like that.” 

“It wouldn't be forever.”

“I've been spoiled, having you here with me at night. What about finding something close to home? Welding?”

“I'd make better money driving, probably seven or eight dollars more an hour, than welding.” 

“Waiting tables again?”

“Are you sure you want me working again at somewhere like The Meeting Place?” Not that I wanted to work that sort of joint again. 

Jim rubbed his hand over his face and sighed. “I'd like to say that it wouldn't bother me to know that you were flirting with customers – and I know it would just be for show – but I don't think I'm that enlightened. Maybe someplace like a good family style restaurant, where you wouldn't get mauled like you did before.”

“I wouldn't make as much in tips at those places. Honestly, Jim, I'd rather drive.”

Jim didn't look happy, but man, I needed a job. He knew that.

He pulled on a pair of socks, then walked over to the closet and chose a blue Irish fisherman sweater to pull over his black T-shirt. I admired the view, and Jim smiled at me when he turned around and saw me gawking. He pointed to the clothes in my hand and jerked his thumb at the stairs. 

“You'd better shake a leg; Steven's out of the shower.” 

I jumped up from the bed and brought up what else was on my mind. “Jim, I spent some time in Blue Jungle Land last night. I was the wolf and you were the jaguar and we were chasing another spirit guide, the one that wrecked all my old hiding places. Do you remember being there?”

“Yes, I remember. I was going to talk to you about it later. Haven't you guessed who that spirit animal belongs to?”

“It's William's.”

“I know. And he's miserable. I don't know how to help him, Chief.”

“We'll keep trying to reach him. Maybe chasing him wasn't the way to go.”

“Yeah. Think you're right about that.”

The bathroom door opened and I gave Jim a quick hug before darting downstairs. 

While I was in the shower, I kept flashing back to the look on Jim's face when I'd mentioned driving big rigs again. Something more than just the obvious – not spending time together – was bothering him about the idea. I'd have to get him to spill the beans about it, but right now my priority was checking those tapes. 

xxx 

 

I returned from the morning's errands and put my new driving schedule up on the fridge. Mr. Brown was a pistol, a much shorter version of Henri but just as hefty. He'd glanced at my CDL, and then he'd had me drive one of the rigs around a few streets with him, gave me some test questions, and then started telling one whopper after another about his days as a driver. After I drove back to the yard and backed the rig up to a loading dock, he told me that I had the job. 

I had felt better right away, knowing that I could pay my own bills again. And now the pressure was off to find something right away in my field, in case I got turned down due to my rep as a fraud. I'd had a couple of rejection letters so far, and a handful of others stating that they didn't have any positions available at the moment but that they would keep my resume on file. I couldn't get published in any anthro journals, but I could try to write something for the general public, something about a specific culture, maybe for travel magazines. I'd have to research that option. 

Jim had said when we'd parted at his dad's house this morning that he wanted to come home for a late lunch, and then follow up on some leads with witnesses that weren't too far from here. Man, it was tempting to see if I could ride along with him, even if I had to stay in the truck like old times, but the new guy in charge of Major Crimes had let Jim know he wouldn't put up with that. The Chief of Police hadn't changed his mind about me.

There were still too many cops willing to rat us out if I was seen with Jim on a case. I missed working with him. I missed figuring out clues and talking to witnesses. I didn't miss getting shot at, though. I would have gone through the Academy for Jim, but I wouldn't have liked being a regular cop. I'd have had to do things that wouldn't have set well with me, like arresting protestors or the homeless. I would have been a good detective, though.

Unfortunately, I couldn't have skipped being a beat cop first. Simon hadn't been able to avoid that, though he'd set up the next best thing, arranging for me to be assigned to Major Crimes for at least half the time once I'd graduated. The rest of my shifts would have been spent in Patrol. That detective's shield I'd been tossed had been more of a pledge for the future, than a job offer. Water under the bridge now.

I made myself a cup of chai tea, got comfortable on the couch, and started listening to the recordings made last night in William's house. 

The recorder had been sound activated, and I listened to the four of us talking, setting things up. After that it was Jim asking for William to talk to him. 

When I heard EVP actually on the tape, I almost dropped my tea in my lap. Jesus, I was hearing an actual ghost voice.

I pushed rewind and listened to it again. Yes. Definitely EVP. I'd listened to some examples from people I trusted while researching communicating with ghosts, and what I was hearing was the real thing.

I made a note of the time on the recorder and listened to the rest of the digital recording. Then I checked the other recorder and the cameras. There was corroboration between the sound recorders and the video recorder on the tripod. 

Three times William had spoken to us. It was hard for ghosts to make intelligible sounds, so usually speech was short. I don't think Molly had ever said anything to Jim when he'd seen her. 

Jim wasn't going to like this.

xxx

Jim handed me beer to put in the fridge while he put away his gun. He told me that he didn't have to go track down those witnesses after all, so he was taking some flex time and didn't have to go back to work today. 

I heated up some leftover lentil soup. Jim made us some turkey and cheese sandwiches, mine with sprouts and Jim's with mayo. When we finished eating, I clued him in about the EVP and played the first word without telling him what it sounded like to me.

Jim's expression turned grim.

“'Abomination.' That was when?”

“I think right after we kissed and he made the tissues swirl up. And that's what I heard, too. I couldn't say for sure that it was William speaking, though, and there are some alternate theories for EVP, stray radio waves, that sort of thing.”

“It sounds odd, kind of hollow and flat, but that's my dad's voice. I pushed up my hearing when you played it. Go on to the next one.”

Jim listened and sighed. “He said, 'I failed you, Jimmy.'”

“I think, from what I saw on the cameras, that was when he was touching you.” 

“He was so sad, Blair. Was his image on the cameras?”

“Not that I could tell, but you should look at it, maybe you'll see something I missed.”

“I'm not sure I want to see anything, but I'll give it a shot. Play the last one.”

After I did, Jim rubbed his hands over his face. “He said, 'Leave him alone, sweetheart.'”

“That's what I heard, and on that last message he was talking to me, I'm pretty sure. He's so conflicted. We have to keep trying to get through to him, to help him.”

Jim nodded, and finished the last of his beer. He held it out to me and asked, “Want another one?” 

“Nah. I'm going to do some more research on how to help a soul pass on, and I'd better not do it with a beer buzz.”

Getting up from the couch, I went into my old bedroom, which we'd outfitted now as a spare bedroom and office. I stripped the sheets, balled them up under my arm, and grabbed my laptop. Intending to put my laptop on the kitchen table and run the sheets downstairs to the washer, I changed course when I noticed Jim staring at my driving schedule, his new, unopened beer in his hand. 

I moved next to him, and nudged him with my shoulder.

“I got the job. I do a run early Monday morning down to San Fran, and I should be back Wednesday morning. It's about a fourteen to fifteen hour drive, but I've got some down time I'll have to take. I'll be back for tutoring Wednesday afternoon and Thursday, and then I have a one day run on Friday.”

He glanced at me and there it was again, that look that said something wasn't kosher in the land of Jim. 

“Jim. What's up with you?”

“Other than my dad, nothing.”

Uh-huh. “I call bullshit. It's something about me working. Is it me driving again? I promise you I'm fit. I've even got a doctor's statement to prove it.”

“I'm not going to stand in your way about working, Blair. It's fine with me.”

I narrowed my eyes. “I'm going to stick this laundry in the washer, and then I'm calling a conference. Something is bothering you, Jim, and we said we wouldn't let things fester between us.”

“Jeez, Sandburg. It's nothing. I can deal with it, I did before.” Jim looked petulant and sounded peeved.

“It's something. Hey, I changed my mind about the beer. Will you get me one while I run downstairs?”

I walked over to the kitchen table and dumped my laptop on top of it. Pointing towards the living room, I ordered, “Beer, couch. I'll be right back up and then we're going to talk. Partners, remember?”

He sighed and opened the fridge, and I headed downstairs. 

xxx

Jim was picking at the label on his beer when I came and sat down next to him on the couch. I grabbed mine from the coffee table, took a swig, and then elbowed him.

“Okay, what is it that you think you're going to have to do again, the thing that's no big deal?”

“It won't be a problem. I'm not going to tie you to me.” He took a swig of beer. “You remember what I told you I did to cope after you'd left?”

“Ahh?”

“So my senses wouldn't go haywire?”

I thought back. “You cut up my sheets and put them in plastic bags so my scent would be preserved.”

“That, and I had some of your hair and I saved your answering machine voice message to listen to. Between that stuff and turning my senses way, way down, to the point that they weren't enhanced at all, I managed to not go bananas and end up back where I started when I first met you. So, we'll get you a cell phone with nationwide coverage, and we'll talk on your down time. I'll stuff a shirt you've worn in a bag and I won't change our sheets. I'll be fine.”

“But will you turn down your senses?” 

“I don't know if I'll need to turn them down or not. Guess I'll find out next week.”

I eyed him. “And just how well are you coping on the job? Are you using them?”

“I'm using them, just not really pushing it. Not without you being there.” He finished off his beer and put the empty bottle down.

“Jim, I might have to do cross-county runs occasionally.”

He shrugged. “Cross that bridge when we come to it, Chief. I'm not saying this is what I prefer, but working apart is the hand that's been dealt to us.”

“I don't like these cards. I want to ditch them and get some better ones. I want to work with you.”

“Won't happen in Cascade, not at the P.D.” 

“We were a great team.”

“That we were, Sandburg.”

“I'd love to have that again.”

“I don't see how, not with police work. And, Blair, I've been meaning to tell you that if you find a good job in another city, I'll move with you.”

Horrified, I said, “Sell the loft and move? Jim, you already gave up your truck for me; I don't want you to lose your home and your job, too.”

He shrugged. “I'm just not that attached to Major Crimes these days. I can probably find another position in a different police department.”

I looked around at the loft. I had a home here.

Jim added, “And I want you to have a decent job that you like.”

“Eventually, I'll find something in Cascade.” 

“It's not just about you. It's looking more and more that maybe moving would be a good idea for the both of us. I'm tired of the looks and comments at work, and every time the press comes sniffing around about a case I'm on, they bring back up Dad's death and us being together. By the way, there's going to be an article that mentions us again sometime this week.”

“Huh? Why?”

“I was tipped off that it was going to be part of a larger series on Cops of the Year. A 'where are they now' sort of thing.”

“Oh, swell. Okay, but later rather than sooner we'll become boring to the press. And yeah, I know Major Crimes has to be different with Simon and Rhonda and the guys I knew mostly gone, but you'll make connections with the new guys.”

Jim shook his head. “Doesn't feel like it, Chief. I feel like I'm just putting in my time there. And you--”

“And me?”

“You said there was just too much damage done at Rainier for you to work there again. That's pretty much how it is anymore at the P.D.”

He waggled a finger at me. “And just what do you think your mom would say about you holding onto material possessions?”

“Mom would tell me to go and meditate about it.”

Jim waved a hand at the room. “I like living here, but that doesn't mean I can't let it go. Just like I did with Sweetheart when it meant keeping you safe.”

I chewed on my lip, thinking. “Maybe _I_ don't want to let it go. I mean, the loft was like my first real home.”

Jim turned a little on the couch so his body was facing me. “I'm selling the house I grew up in, so I can understand that it's not easy to do, but you're home to me. I can let the loft go if it means us being happier together somewhere else.”

“I should keep an open mind.” 

Jim's expression brightened. “And maybe we could move to the country. Wouldn't you like a garden, maybe some fruit trees? A shop where you could do welding projects, some of those arty things you've showed me pictures about? And I think I'd like to get into woodworking as a hobby. We could share shop space.”

He put his arm around me and drew me next to him, kissed me. “I'll keep an open mind about staying or moving, too. And I think I'll be okay while you're on the road, but if I have problems I'll tell you, I promise.”

Huh. I had never even considered moving out of Cascade, although some of the jobs I'd been applying for meant being gone for long stretches of time. And after what Jim just told me, I wasn't going to accept any job offers from those companies. I couldn't leave him for months at a time, not when he'd had sensory problems when I'd been gone for that miserable year. I should have remembered that when I was planning job strategies with Jack Kelso. 

If I did broaden my job search outside of Cascade I'd increase my chances of getting a good job, one that I felt made a contribution to the universe. I should explore my feelings about that with meditation and with my counselor. Most of all, I wanted to be fair to Jim. 

He said, “Hey, go do your research, and I'll watch the videos from last night, and then let's go down to the gym. Maybe watch a movie later on here at home so I can make out with you.”

I looked around the loft, picturing it without Jim being here. Like that, it was just a space with four walls.

“Okay. As long as I can ogle your hot, sweaty body.”

He got off the couch and pulled me up with one jerk. 

“You've got a deal, Chief.”

xxx


	16. Chapter 16

The weekend after William manifested to Jim was the first time I heard the crying. 

I'd gone to sleep early on Sunday night because of my crack-of-dawn roll-out time Monday morning from the loading dock on Wharf St. I'd curled up next to Jim, who'd gone to bed with me but who was reading a book in our darkened bedroom instead of sleeping. Sometime between sleep cycles, though, I wandered back into Jim's blue-tinted dreamscape, the jungle he'd constructed that resembled the rainforests of Peru. 

These days Blue Jungle Land was sunny and welcoming. I had no desire to hide or run as I'd once had when I'd been drawn into this spirit plane against my will. When the spirit plane had let me return to the mundane, material plane of existence, I hadn't even remembered my frantic scrambling through the tangled bush or feeling so lost and desolate from the destruction of my pitiful hiding places. Not until I'd return again and remember how terrified I was of the jaguar who kept seeking me out. 

Things were so different now and I was calm and observant as I wandered down paths through the brush or up hills. 

I was myself, not immersed with my spirit guide, either in human or wolf form. I was sitting by the little pool I'd grown so fond of, my bare legs dangling in the cool water, when I first heard heartbroken sobbing. It sounded far away and it disturbed me.

I was sure it was a child crying, and I went to find that unhappy soul, hoping I could offer some comfort.

After walking for a time, I came close enough to those pitiful sounds to glimpse a small, fair-haired boy, all curled in on himself as he lay there on the ground, sobbing his little heart out. He sat up suddenly, teary-eyed, and when he saw me he looked scared and in a flash changed into a weasel and scampered away. 

I knew even before I saw the form of the spirit guide that it was William who was crying. 

He'd chosen to retreat to a child's form, and from the way he was sobbing, I expected whatever he was upset about was the origin for his aversion to Jim having a relationship with another man. After all, this was the spirit plane and everything had meaning here. I pondered what to do to build trust with him, so that he would talk to me.

I glanced down at myself and wondered if me being naked might have spooked him. This was Jim's dreamscape and Jim had always pictured me sans clothing, so that's how I appeared. But William had looked to be a boy of about nine or ten, and it might be easier on him if I was dressed. He was wearing clothes, after all, a short-sleeved shirt, maybe linen, and shorts with a belt of the same material. He reminded me of boys in pictures from the forties. 

I could wear clothes in Blue Jungle Land if I wanted. Jim didn't get to make all the decisions about what went on in here. We were partners now and were sharing this version of the spirit plane; I wasn't a hijacked visitor anymore. 

I imagined myself dressed in a loud pair of Bermuda shorts, ones that would have left Jim wincing, and felt the fabric form against my body. I'd dreamed up bright purple ones splashed with light green palm trees and yellow pineapples, and they came down almost to my knees. It should work.

William had appeared as a kid. Maybe leaving him a gift that a little boy would like might be the next step towards having a dialogue with him. 

Eying the jungle vegetation, I found something I could work with so I hiked over to an area overrun with bamboo. Some of the tall spikes were as thick as my wrist, but I needed something more the size of my finger. I took my knife out of my pocket and opened it. William might be close enough to hear me, so I decided to explain what I was doing. Scaring him further by bringing out a weapon was the last thing I wanted to accomplish.

“Hey, William. This is my pocket knife that I'm using. It's a real Swiss Army knife, and I was given it for my Bar-Mitzvah when I was thirteen. I'm using it as a tool and not a weapon. Watch what I can make with it.”

Hacking loose a length of bamboo, I set about making my gift. It didn't take too long to assemble the cut pieces together. I used the knife to scrape some resin from a nearby gumbo-limbo tree, the distinctive red bark making it easy to locate. The resin glued together my little present, and then I made a second one for my own use.

I didn't see the weasel, but I felt sure William's spirit guide was watching as I sat quietly on the ground, cross-legged and patient, using the time while my small offering dried to meditate. 

I dropped into delta waves and allowed myself to focus on William and his spirit guide. Weasel medicine. Those in tune with the weasel did not do things halfheartedly. William had built an impressive business, one that had brought him a lot of wealth. Weasels tended to take more than they needed to, in terms of food, and stockpiled it. Jim and Steven were still astounded at William's bequests to them and Sally. Weasels also were cunning and stealthy. Well, I hadn't sensed that William was my enemy, nor had Jim. William had managed to disrupt my life so much. Until he had almost succeeded in killing me, I hadn't had a clue that he considered me such a problem.

Fierceness was another attribute of weasel medicine. And William had been fierce in wanting to protect Jim, although he was seriously misguided. On a hopeful note, if I could get to the bottom of what had happened when he was a little guy and help him process it, instead of just over-reacting to it, maybe he'd gain the insight he needed to be able to let go and pass into the light. Weasel medicine exhibited the ability to access deep internal intuition, it was said.

It was part of my wolf spiritual nature to want to protect my family, my community. To teach, to help others understand their spiritual sides. And to go with my gut, my instincts. Lord knows, I'd been doing that with Jim from day one. 

I ended my meditation and did some Yoga stretches to warm my muscles until I was ready to try communicating with William. Picking up the small bamboo slide whistle I'd made for him, I lifted it to my lips, gently blowing into the mouthpiece and manipulating the slider to make the tone change pitch from low to high and back down again.

It was kind of addicting to play with it. I stopped, though, because I sensed I needed to get back to my body soon. Lifting up my own whistle, I blew in it to make sure it was working. I put it into my pocket, where it jostled against my pocket knife as I walked to a fallen log and laid down William's present.

Then I strolled back to the little pool; once there I removed my shorts and threw them over a tree branch before sliding into the cool water. I floated and closed my eyes, and felt the changes that told me I was returning to my physical self.

I opened my eyes and saw Jim looking at me, raised up on one elbow, the covers thrown off of us.

It was pre-dawn, judging by the dim light filtering through the skylight. I'd have to leave very soon, and I glanced at the alarm clock to confirm the time.

“Hey, Jim, it's too early for you to be up. Go back to sleep.”

He let his fingers tweak my nipples and then trail down my belly, before brushing purposefully at my dick.

“Much as I'd love to just lie back and let those magic fingers of yours do their thing, I don't have time.”

Pouting was an interesting look on Jim.

I smiled ruefully at him and climbed over his body, missing him already. “I'll cash in my rain check when I get back on Wednesday, okay?”

“Deal,” Jim said.

Jim got up, too, and swatted me on the ass as I stretched. It caught me a little by surprise, and I turned around.

“Um, just checking, Jim. Was that swat intended to send a message?”

Jim looked a little confused. “A message? No, well, just that you've got a cute butt, Chief, and I'm going to miss it, er, you. Why'd you say that?”

Jim didn't look conflicted or possessive. Not like he had when he used to give me a farewell tap on my ass before I'd leave to go work at The Meeting Place. 

“Okay, I can see it isn't anything, but I just wondered for a moment, you know?”

Jim rubbed his temples with both hands. “I'm going to need coffee before deciphering what's going on in your head.”

“Hey. My head isn't that much of a mystery.”

Jim snorted. “It's cute that you think that. Hit the shower and I'll be in the kitchen and we'll talk then, okay?

“Okay.”

“I'll make you some coffee to take with you, too, for the road.”

“Sweet. Make it strong, I'm going to need it.”

xxx

 

I dressed quickly, still drying my hair as I walked into the kitchen. I'd been thinking while I was in the shower about how to explain myself to Jim without pissing him off. I almost wished I'd just kept my mouth shut, but that was how we got into trouble before and what allowed us to build on assumptions until our relationship crumbled under the weight of them.

Jim was in his bathrobe, his hair endearingly messy, and as I slid into my seat he poured me a large mug of java and set it down on the table. I was going to just pitch my towel towards the bathroom and pick it up later, but he caught my arm before I could let fly.

“Ohhhh, no you don't. Give it here.”

I surrendered the wet towel and Jim placed it on the counter and sat down opposite me with his own large mug of coffee.

Jim said, “Okay, talk. No, I'll go first. I was just screwing around when I gave you that love-tap on your butt. Why did you get that look on your face and say what you did?”

I fortified myself with a long swallow of excellent coffee. Trust a sentinel to make it just right. What a barista Jim would have made. Jim gave me a look when I didn't answer him.

“Chief, I didn't even swat you hard enough to make it sting. Did I make you feel like a little kid or something? I told you back in that cabin, when we had the rocking chair thing going on, that I don't see you as childish.”

Jim looked pointedly at the kitchen clock and I stopped stalling.

“No, It didn't make me feel like a kid. I probably was feeling a little oversensitive when I told you that, on our epic trip back to Cascade.”

Jim shrugged. “You were sick as a dog, Chief. And I had just rocked you in my lap.”

“You comforted me, and I needed that. But what I kind of flashed back to was all those times when I left to go work at The Meeting Place, and you would swat me before I walked out the door. Those did sting. A lot. You weren't screwing around back then; you were telling me nonverbally that you had a claim on me and not to forget it when I was flirting with a customer.”

“I was a jerk.”

“You were angry and afraid we were going to fall apart,” I said gently.

“Yeah.”

“So, just for a moment, when you swatted me, I thought maybe you were saying that again. But after I said it, I knew this time it was different. I know you were just playing with me. And you know, maybe for my upcoming birthday I'll let you spank me before we have sex. Could be a lot of fun, really sensitize my ass first so when you touch me I'll be extra tingly.”

Jim frowned. “Entertaining as the thought of you over my lap getting spanked is, I don't want this conversation to be derailed. For the record, I'm okay with you leaving today and going to work. I'm not sending any secret messages by way of your butt.”

I grinned at him and drank more coffee.

Jim pointed a finger at me. “You did nail my motivations about smacking you on the ass when you would leave for that dive, I'll give you that, but I'm not going to start up again. I have a problem, or if you have a problem, we hash it out. Them's the rules, Baby Driver.”

I laughed outright, and Jim grinned back. He said, “You've got time for breakfast, if we hurry. You cook, and I'll find our old thermos.”

He dug out our stakeout thermos from the cupboard and filled it up with coffee while I scrambled some eggs and threw a couple of bagels in the toaster. 

In between bites of my breakfast, I filled Jim in on my encounter with William in Blue Jungle Land.

He was quiet, thoughtful, until after I'd explained how I'd left William-the-child a toy as a gesture of good will. 

“You're good with kids, so maybe you can get him to open up. Blair, do you think he was sexually abused as a kid?”

“I don't know if he was hurt that way or not, but somebody really did a number on him.”

“Could that be why he became so adamantly against same-sex relationships? Well, I'm guessing he felt the same way about two women loving each other as he did two men. I don't really know for sure, though.”

I rose from the table and gave Jim's shoulder a squeeze. “Why don't you try traveling to the spirit plane, see if you can get anywhere with him.”

“He might just run away again. And to be honest, I'm still pretty angry about what he did to you and I don't think my jaguar roaring at him is going to help with the whole building up trust thing you've started.”

“Well then, you've just set yourself a goal, haven't you?”

He tilted his head, questioning me.

“Jim, you're going to have to work through those feelings of anger. William needs our forgiveness, I think. And you're also still angry at him for killing himself. He chose to leave you and I know that hit you way below the belt.”

Jim sighed.

I moved closer and dropped a kiss on the top of his head. “You know, my counselor has been helpful, maybe you should think about seeing someone.”

Making a face, he said, “I really don't want to go and spill my guts to a stranger.”

I nodded. Professional counseling didn't click with everybody. “Okay, what do you think would help you deal?” 

“Maybe talk to Simon. He's always been a good sounding board for me.”

“He won't let you get away with any crap, you know, if you ask him for his opinions.”

“I know. Probably what I need. And you, Chief. You help me more than anything. Some of this is just going to take time, I think. We can keep Dad's house off the market for a while longer. And I'll try to get over being so pissed at the man. If I knew more about his reasons for going after you, maybe it would make a difference.”

“We can talk tonight on my downtime. And I've got to slide on out of here.” I scooted over to the coat rack and put on my jacket, grabbed my car keys, and picked up my already packed backpack. Jim grabbed the thermos and kissed me at the door before giving it to me.

“Drive safely, Chief.”

“Ditto.”

And I hauled ass out the door.

Xxx

 

The incessant ringing of my cell phone finally roused me from the deep sleep I'd been in, and I rolled off the bunk at the back of the truck cab and staggered back into my seat. I fumbled around till I finally found my blasted phone and yawned as I answered it with a sleepy hello. It was dark out, so I'd been asleep for quite a while.

“Blair?”

I was startled when I heard Dave's voice. I hadn't talked to him since the week after William died and Dave had called to give his condolences.

Glancing at the dashboard clock, I saw that it was almost ten o'clock, and that my downtime would be over in about forty-five minutes. Just enough time for me to grab a shower and some food from the Pilot truck stop I'd parked at to get some sleep. My next stop was Phoenix and then I was heading back to Cascade. 

“Dave, man, what's up? You working the night shift again?”

“I am this week. I called the house first and Jim said that you'd gone back to drivin' for awhile. How's that workin' out?”

Driving is one of my fall-back skills, one that's served me well in the past, and even was useful in one of Jim's former cases. There are things I don't like about it, of course. There's pressure to make good time, and it can be dangerous. People can be idiots when they get behind the wheel of a vehicle. Of course, riding shotgun with Jim has had its moments, too. 

I'd made money for the last three months since Henri's great-uncle had hired me. I'd funneled a lot of it into paying off my loans and helped pay my share of the household bills. Jim was okay while I was gone, no zones, but he'd had to turn his senses down to almost a mundane level. It was what he'd done before when I had left him. Still, it wasn't a good solution for long. It was like tying his hands behind his back and blindfolding him, then telling him to do his job. 

I stretched and answered Dave. “Driving's working out okay. It pays the bills, and I see some pretty scenery at times.”

“Where are you?”

“I'm south of San Diego right now and saw some fantastic views of the ocean from Interstate 5 earlier today.”

“You gonna keep on drivin', then?”

“Oh, no. I'm not going to drive forever. I've been doing some job hunting the last couple of months. A good offer will turn up eventually, although I admit I'm getting kind of antsy about when I'll find something in my field.” I turned the phone away from my mouth so Dave wouldn't hear me yawning again. 

I did feel like I was back in limbo. Since I'd been driving again, I hadn't had an offer for a professional job in my field, although I'd had a handful of interviews. Some of my interviewers told me in so many words that I was overqualified. I got the impression that they didn't think I'd stick around very long if I was hired, and they didn't want to invest their time in training me only to see me hand in my resignation when something “more suitable” came along. I was pretty sure that all the publicity from the diss, William's suicide, and the fascination the local press had developed for Jim's and my relationship had tanked a few others. There was something in people's voices that told me I was a hot potato to them, and they were concerned about guilt by association. It went without saying that any academic job hunting was doomed; I didn't even try. I could probably get a job as a substitute teacher, maybe even supplement it with school bus driving, but the pay was lousy. Maybe when I was caught up with my loans, I'd check into it. I'd enjoy teaching again. But while the qualifications for being a sub weren't too stringent, I doubted I could get a waiver to teach my own classes. 

So until I could find a better job, I'd keep to the highways.

A semi rumbled slowly past me, and I spoke louder. “So, Dave, is this an official call? Is it about those two jackasses who you caught trying to take a hit out on me? Or something else?”

“I wanted to talk to you about somethin', but first, those two are still in prison for their parole violations and not likely to get out this time. They never did come up with anything else about the man who hired them. What about the case on y'all's end? Did you find out who Jim's dad had contacted to kill you?”

“Nope. William didn't leave anything on his computer or in his records that points a finger at anybody, so no leads there. He had contracted with a few private investigators to do surveillance on me, electronic and in person. Jim and I figure that was how William had known how to get in touch with some of my employers. You remember? William sent them letters saying I was under investigation for fraud.”

“I remember he accused you of bein' a sex offender, too,” Dave said.

“Yeah. I was more upset about that, I think, then about the fraud stuff.”

I picked up my coffee cup, smelled the last two inches in it and made a face. Ugh. Time for some fresh java.

“What did the cops find out about the private eyes?”

“They're satisfied that they weren't involved in anything more than keeping an eye on me for William.”

“So another dead-end?”

“Yeah. Also, one of the goons who came to William's house to drag my supposedly dead carcass away and survived getting shot was questioned pretty thoroughly.”

“He cooperate?”

“Nope. The DA offered him a deal if he'd rat out his boss, but he kept his mouth shut. He was sentenced to fifteen years in prison for shooting at police officers. Jim checked into his associates, but apparently he free-lanced as muscle for a lot of people, so the trail's pretty muddy. The other guy died, if you remember, and nothing much came from checking out his background.”

“So not much progress.”

“Not really. Jim's pissed about it. He's not the lead detective, but he checks things out just the same.”

“Well, I'm sorry to hear that things have been stalled. And you? You're back to feelin' pretty good, I reckon, or you wouldn't be drivin', right?”

I laughed. “Hey, I'm great, although it took me a while to really get over the mono and, uh, well, you know, being poisoned and shot. My leg's all right, though. I even put back on a few pounds; all muscle, I'll have you know. Anyway, enough about me and Jim. Is there something I can help you with?”

“Well, I sure hope so. Seems that I might have met a kid that's like Jim.”

I made interested noises, and he went on. 

“This twelve-year-old kid called the police one night, said she'd heard an old man wandering around in the woods and thought he needed help. Her mama was at work at the truck stop on I-40, and the girl was under strict orders to not leave the house. Besides, she's not foolish enough to start wandering through the woods by herself at night.”

“Sounds like she's got a lot of common sense.”

“She does. Well, me and Harlan responded to the call. We drove close to where she said he was in the woods. We listened and didn't hear anything except the usual woods noises, coyotes and owls and such-like – but she was insistent and repeated to us what she said the old man was a-sayin'. He was callin' out for someone named Flora. Harlan thought she was makin' it all up, but I remembered how Jim was able to hear talk when by all rights he shouldn't have, and I called Maddie. You remember her?”

I stretched again, thinking back. “Um, at the hospital?”

“She was the nurse who treated you at the ER when you was sick. I asked if she knew anybody name of Flora who might be caretakin' an old man.”

“Sure, I remember her. Say hi to her from me, okay?”

“I'll pass that along. Well, Maddie knows everythin' that goes on in Sweetwater and out in the county, too. She come up with the name Flora Anderson. Her husband's grandpa from Nashville had moved in with them and was in the first stages of Alzheimer’s. So I called Miss Flora and she went and looked and turned out Grandpa Ezra was missin'. We got together a search party and I called Kathleen's mama and she gave permission for the girl to help us look for the old gentleman.” 

“She found him, didn't she? How far away was he?”

“A mile and a half, and she led me and Harlan right to him. He'd wandered a good four miles away from his house. I asked her if she'd always had such good hearin', but she said no. It'd started up about a month earlier.”

“When I was searching for a sentinel to study, I tested hundreds of people with one or two enhanced senses. Kathleen might fall into that population.”

“She's got sharp eyes, too, I've noticed. I haven't said much to her, except to thank her for her help and ask if she was having any trouble with her senses. She told me sometimes things sound so loud to her that it makes her ears hurt and things taste funny. She also gets rashes a lot, but she's been tested for allergies and she's not allergic to anything. I told her and her mama I might be able to get somebody who knows about these things to talk to her, let her know if there was anything that might help her.”

“Sure. I can send you some material for her mother to look over. I don't have as much data on women sentinels but I've got a hunch that maybe her sentinel senses were latent and became activated when she started puberty. She has started it, hasn't she?”

“Looks to me that she has. Do you ever drive out this way, Blair?”

“Not yet, but my boss said he'll need me to do some cross-country runs soon since one of the other drivers is going to be out for a while.”

“I-40's not that far away from Sweetwater. We could meet you at a truck stop, if you're driving that way.”

“I wonder if she's met a guide. A sentinel and guide relationship doesn't have to be like mine and Jim's. Jim probably had a couple of guides before me. Possibly a football coach who gave him a lot of support, and then I wonder if anybody from his Ranger unit might have been one. A shaman helped guide him when he was in Peru.”

“Reckon you're his last guide, though.”

“Man, you reckon right. Hey, I'll call you if it turns out I'm routed east on I-40. If Kathleen's mother agrees, I'd be happy to meet the two of them, maybe do a few simple tests.”

“I appreciate it, Blair. You take care now.”

I said goodbye and called Jim before he went to bed. We talked about Dave's information – Jim had told him to talk to me about the sentinel stuff, since I was the expert – then I regretfully ended the call by telling him I loved him and to sleep well. Jim had admitted he'd used a bag with my lightly worn clothes in it to breathe in some of my scent this afternoon at a crime scene. He kept a bag in the truck and one at the loft, in case he needed to reground himself. I wished I was home and could wrap my arms around him, pull him down to scent my neck. Ah, well. Wishes, horses, beggars.

I went inside the truck stop to get my shower and a large cup of coffee before I headed for Phoenix.

 

Xxx

I flicked my lights to let the pickup in front of me know I was going to pass him. I'd driven for almost three hours since leaving the truck stop and the lights of Yuma were before me. 

When I'm driving on a night like this, on the interstate or a two-lane blacktop, I'm always fascinated by the shining trails of brilliant headlights and the dimmer gleam of red taillights. I love how cities and towns are illuminated into a kind of magical space by webs of lights as you see them from a distance. They cast a surreal spell over me as I roll down the highway, and I'll spend hours just thinking about what's important to me.

Sometimes I think my life is surreal. I'm a guide to a sentinel. That never stops being amazing, that I found Jim, and the years when I was his work-partner had been so fulfilling to me. Realistically, I couldn't have kept on being his ride-along observer. Somebody further up than Simon would have eventually ended it. As for being a regular cop, I'd have stuck it out, so that I could make detective and really be partnered with Jim. There wasn't a snowball's chance in hell of that happening in Cascade, not now. I didn't think it was much of a viable plan in any other city – just too many obstacles without the help of someone like Simon greasing the wheels. 

Jim could go into private security or become a P.I. We could present ourselves as a team. I've got skills that would fit that kind of work. Except... Jim really did believe in the “Protect and Serve” motto, and the kind of work security entailed wouldn't be the same. He'd be a hell of a bodyguard, but if he didn't respect his employer, or they didn't respect him, he wouldn't like it. Jim and ass-kissing (except for mine) have never been very compatible. And a lot of private detective work is getting nosy about distasteful stuff, like catching a wife or husband cheating on their spouse. Jim wouldn't care for that, and I expected that aspect was bread and butter for a P.I. 

Jim could just chuck it and live on what William left him, if he was frugal, but I didn't see him being happy without a purpose for his life. He liked being a cop. He felt satisfied solving crimes and taking criminals off the streets. He might feel compassion for them – Nathan Bergman came to mind – but he stood for the victims. 

I finished passing the old truck, an ancient Ford, and felt nostalgic for a moment for Sweetheart. We'd had such adventures in the old girl. 

Jim kept assuring me that he hadn't regretted trading her in for the truck we'd driven from Tennessee to Cascade. He hadn't kept that one, though. He'd traded it for another Ford, a blue and brown F series 82 Super-cab with four-wheel drive and a bench seat in the extended cab. I figured I'd be back there if Simon, Jim, and I went fishing again. No way would Simon fit and Jim would be uncomfortable, too. Really, that back seat was meant more for kids or dogs. I didn't really understand why Jim had gone for it, but then we'd made a truce regarding our vehicles. I didn't diss his truck, and he didn't shake his head too much about my fixer-upper AMC Marlin. 

I usually thought a lot about Jim and me as I drove to San Francisco or San Diego or Billings or the other cities I delivered to, reflecting on the mistakes we'd made and how good it was between us now. Friends and lovers, and our auras reflected the happiness we had with each other. 

Jim and I were fine, but Jim was still angry with his father. He felt that his father had betrayed him. He was trying to come to peace with himself about it through a combination of running things by Simon, talking to me at home or when I was on my downtime, and putting a lot of effort into hitting the bag at the gym. 

Jim and Steven were spending more time together, and in their case their father's death had drawn them closer. That was something to be thankful for, because we'd all seen the opposite happen when a death shattered a family so badly that there was no coming back to healthy relationships between the survivors.

We'd all agreed to put a hold on trying to make William's ghost appear at his house, at least while I felt I was making some progress with gaining William's trust in the spirit plane.

That whole aspect was something that felt both surreal and perfectly natural to me, that I was doing the work of a shaman and accessing the spirit plane. I was awed that I'd had the experiences I had with seeing my own spirit guide and Jim's. I accepted that I had a calling to be shaman, and as a shaman, even a mostly untrained one, I felt a responsibility to help William's spirit gain peace and pass onwards.

William slowly had begun to relate to me, on my trips back to the spirit plane. I would travel to Blue Jungle Land from my dreams, or when I had the time to meditate, I would send myself there. Each time I would hear him crying, and I would go to the pool and dress in my Bermuda shorts and set out to find him. I would stop when I felt I was fairly close by, and blow on my whistle, making goofy sounds. 

At first he would keep crying and as I walked up to him he would change again into the weasel and run off.

After a time, though, he altered his MO. He'd shift into his spirit guide and scamper a little ways away, just out of sight. I could tell when he would change back to human form. I'd play my whistle; he'd offer a counter melody from his whistle, although neither one of us were going to win any music awards. Jim would have plugged up his ears if he'd been there, but Jim was blocking himself from traveling to the spirit plane to make peace with his father. 

I'd make it home by Friday and once there, I resolved to have a serious talk with Jim about William. I kept feeling that if William didn't go into the light soon, he might be trapped on this plane forever. 

 

xxx

 

I shut off the car engine and just slid down a little in the seat. Marlins at least were made for comfort, and I was so tired.+ I could just shut my eyes and nod off. I wouldn't, though. Jim was waiting for me, and when I'd last talked to him, he'd said he'd feed me when I showed up. That sounded great. I wasn't sure what I'd go for first – shower, food, and sex or... food, shower, and sex. The sex would have to be on the low energy side; maybe I'd give Jim a nice blow job. 

I'd gotten a parking spot fairly close to the loft. A few minutes of walking and then I'd be home. Once I actually left the car, that is. I would just close my eyes for a few seconds – have the shortest power nap in history.

I was startled awake by the door opening and then Jim was leaning over me, undoing my seat belt.

“C'mon, Blair. There's a bed waiting for you and I made a pot of beef soup. And buddy, you need to get those brakes replaced. I could hear them squealing all down Prospect.”

“Jim... sorry... Jus' closed my eyes for a moment.” I turned in my seat and grabbed my backpack from the back seat. “Brakes... yeah. I know. I can afford it after my next paycheck. Got to take care of my baby, after all.”

Jim snorted and held out his hand. I took it and levered myself out of the car and into his arms for a welcome home hug. 

He kissed me, practically lifting me up against him, and suddenly I rearranged my to-do list. Sex, then food, then shower. I had a plan.

With reluctance, we pushed away from each other, and I smiled at him ruefully. “How long have I been out here?”

“Not long. I was listening and when I heard you snoring I figured I'd better come and get you.”

“You're making that up. I don't snore.”

“Keep telling yourself that, babe. Denial is a good look on you.”

I swatted Jim with my backpack and he laughed all the way down the street.

Xxx

I explained about my plan after dropping my backpack on the couch, but Jim squashed it. He leaned back against the kitchen counter and smiled knowlingly at me.

“Chief, you'll nod off after I make you come. You're practically asleep on your feet as it is. Go take a shower, and wake up a little, then eat.”

I mock-scowled at him while I took the hair tie out of my hair and ran my hands through it. Ulterior motives, man. I knew Jim liked my hair loose. “For delaying my gratification I should get twice the reward.”

Jim pretended to ponder that, but one side of his mouth kept wanting to turn up, giving his amusement away.

“I see your point. So here's what's going to happen. You get good and clean – inside and out – we'll eat, and then I'm taking you to bed and giving you a blow job.”

“Sweet.”

“And when you're lying there, all sleepy and comfortable, I'm going to roll you over, tuck a pillow under your hips and fuck you till you come again. You get two gold stars, okay?”

For an answer I walked over to him, and slid my arms around his waist. I'd missed touching him, and I wanted an appetizer before I did as he asked and went to take a shower.

Jim's smug smile returned. Well, maybe it had something to do with how I'd moved my hands till they were cupping his ass. 

“I'm just gonna lie there and take it, is that right?”

“That's the plan.”

“Let you shatter me to pieces, make me see stars? I'm down with that. For later. Right now, though, I feel like being greedy. I've been thinking about this for days while driving down Interstate 5, picturing this moment.” 

“Chief?”

I unbuttoned his jeans, slid down his zipper. “Did you jerk off while I was gone, Jim? I didn't. I saved it up for you. And now... Man, my skin feels too tight, know what I mean? Got that feeling in my gut, that heavy, delicious feeling, and my hands, man, they want to roam free. Touch you wherever I want, watch your skin flush, breathe on your dick, feel your hands in my hair...”

I'd gone to my knees, and freed his dick. I stopped talking to lick a wet stripe from near his balls to the head. Jim was breathing heavily, and he gripped my hair with one hand and with the other he guided his dick to my lips, touching them, and he rocked his hips forward. 

I yanked his jeans down lower. I wanted more room to play, and I stroked his upper thighs, let my fingers dance over his skin, as Jim let out a frustrated sound and tightened his hold on my hair. 

His dick was hard and darkening, and I looked up into his eyes and felt powerful, even though I was the one on my knees. I could make Jim Ellison feel like a god. 

“Dial it up,” I whispered, and opened my mouth, welcoming him in and myself home.

xxx

Blair was a sensual little fuck. Pushy, too. But since he'd sidetracked me into enjoying one mind-blowing orgasm, I would let it go. 

I told him that, after I could talk again. Still on his knees, he glanced up at me, smug. Blair was cute with his hair all tousled from my hands and his lips reddened from sucking on my dick. Still, it was time to get him back on the program.

“Shower, Chief. And don't play around in there. I liked what you said about how your motor's all revved up, and I want to be one to gun the engine.” I pulled him to his feet and he staggered a little. 

He did look tired, and I wanted him to be comfortable when I took him up to our bed. I didn't want him to wake up hours later feeling grungy and hungry.

He disappeared into the bathroom, and I reheated the soup. Anymore, my life always felt like I'd put it on pause while Blair was away. When he returned, my senses would feel sharper, brighter. I'd relax in his presence, not realizing how tense I'd become while he was gone for days at a time.

It was frightening in a way, being so entwined with my lover like this. Our connection ran so deep, so strong, that if I lost him it would absolutely break me. I'd never felt such fear as I had during those times when he'd come close to dying. Lash, being poisoned by Golden, the fountain. Seeing his astral body floating over his unresponsive body. 

One of Blair's sayings came to mind: Take the bitter with the sweet. I'd opened myself to Blair. If I'd kept myself guarded, like I had when I was married to Carolyn, then I wouldn't feel this absolute rightness at being with him. I'd been miserable the year he was gone, a surly bastard who was bleeding out and didn't even realize he was dying. I was so thankful that we'd worked things out between us. When I was with him now, I felt happy.

I wanted Blair to have everything he desired in life. Me, of course. That one we could cross off the wish list. But he also deserved to have a fulfilling career. Good friends. Colleagues that respected him for his intelligence and his ethics. And there was one more element I thought we should consider. 

It would have to be something we both wanted. I'd been thinking about it for the last few months. I still had some doubts, but I'd talked to Simon and he thought I could do it. That meant a lot to me. And if Blair said yes, he would be wonderful at it. But he had enough on his plate right now with my father and finding a job in his field. 

It could wait.

xxx

 

I handed Blair his mail at breakfast the next morning. He'd slept a good eleven hours, and he looked much more rested. I was feeling fine, and my senses were practically humming. Burying myself in Blair's ass usually did have that effect. 

Blair finished his last bite of pancake and shoved his plate to the side. He started sorting his mail, muttering, “Junk, junk, bill, bill, bill,” as he placed each letter in the appropriate pile on the table. I grabbed our plates to take to the sink and Blair handed me the junk mail as well. 

“Would you dump this stuff into file thirteen? Thanks. Oh, hey.” He held up a pale green envelope and I recognized Naomi's graceful handwriting. “Letter from Mom.” 

He opened it and read it quickly, smiling at times. Then he handed it to me to read for myself. 

Naomi was well. She wrote that she and Thomas were now in Scotland, and were staying at a bread and breakfast in Mull. They had taken a tour to the Isle of Staffa and seen Fingal's Cave, and in a few days they planned to visit Shien fairy hill. According to Naomi it was a “mystical place of power,” and she planned to meditate there. She and Thomas would be back in the States by the Fourth of July, about seven weeks from now, and she thought she'd come by to see us. 

I laid Naomi's letter on the table. “Hey, Chief. Think she'll bring Thomas with her in July? It sounds like they've had a great time traveling together.”

Blair hadn't opened the letter he held in his hand. He shrugged. “Probably not. For Thomas, the time they've spent together has been a vacation. And when a vacation is over, Naomi gets to feeling hemmed in. The world is so big and interesting and there are always new places to travel to and to learn about.” 

“Think she'll ever settle down?”

He stared towards the living room windows, but I doubted he was seeing Cascade. He said, “No. And why should she? It's not her thing.” 

He looked back at me. “If Thomas wants to keep up with her, she'll stay with him.” He shrugged, a little smile beginning to turn up his lips. “If he decides to remain at home, she'll probably do the detaching with love bit.”

He started turning the letter in his hand over and over. “I'm not like her. I love traveling and seeing new places, too. It's so mondo cool to learn about different peoples' histories and cultures. But I need a home to come back to afterwards. Naomi's like a leaf in the wind. I need roots, man.”

“You know, I promised you a while ago that we'd take a vacation, somewhere with a warm beach. I could take time off; you could ask not to be scheduled for driving for a couple of weeks.”

Blair smiled at me. “Yeah, I remember that promise. It sounds just as good now as it did then. But I think it'll have to wait for a while longer.”

“Why?”

“William needs our help first. I think he's close to trusting me. And Jim, I have this feeling that his time is running out for catching the soul train out of here. Do you think you're ready to face him? He's got unfinished business to take care of before he'll let himself move on.”

Well, that was a good question. I'd been thinking about Dad a lot, but I didn't know if I could tell him I forgave him. Maybe if I knew why he'd hurt Blair, I'd get closure and could tell him that he was forgiven. Maybe.

“I don't know, Chief. If Dad will spill his guts, then maybe I can let the things he did go.” 

All this time, Blair had kept playing with the letter in his hand. I pointed at it. “Aren't you going to open that one, or is it more junk mail?”

Blair made a face. “It's from a company that gave me an interview. I know it's going to be another rejection letter, so I was putting off reading it. I should do the rip off the band-aid fast routine and just get it over with.” 

I refilled my coffee cup, giving him a moment of privacy to read the bad news. 

“Huh. They want me to call and set up a second interview.”

“Which company is this?”

“Dawson Advertising Agency. They're looking for ethnographers to document how a targeted group uses certain products. You do interviews in people's homes, videotape them, analyze the raw data until you've got something to present to the client to beef up their sales. Guess Jack's recommendation letter is being given more weight than the fraud reputation.”

“Is that something that you'd like to do?”

“Well, the interviews and observations would suit me. I guess I really don't care if a product gets sold or not. They're based here in Cascade, but if I get the job there would probably be some traveling.”

“You don't sound too excited.”

“I've still got to get through the next level of interviewing. I don't want to get emotionally invested just yet.”

Blair got up from the table and gathered his mail. He disappeared into his old room, and I heard him dump the letters on his desk.

I glanced at the clock. It was almost ten o'clock. We had time before meeting Beverly later. I'd see if Blair wanted to go to the gym with me in a couple of hours. We could shower there and catch up with her and her friend afterwards for dinner.

I walked into his old room – I'd probably always call it that – and put my hands on the back of his shoulders and kissed him on the side of his neck. I was always greedy to touch him after he'd been away for several days. 

I told him that Beverly had called yesterday and invited us out for pizza and beer, her treat. She was bringing another guest, someone who'd been with her at a three-day conference north of us in Bellingham, and she was going to show him around Cascade for the weekend. 

He agreed readily. Then he turned around and hugged me. He stepped back and looked at me assessingly.

“I want to meditate for a while. Would you try to meditate with me? Travel to the spirit plan to talk to William?”

I hesitated. Was I calmed down enough to meet my father again and not blow up at him? I might be. Blair read the indecision on my face and took my hands, then he tilted his head and I knew he was reading my aura. 

“What's the verdict, Doc?”

“I think you're getting there, Jim.”

“Clear as mud, Chief. Getting _where_?”

“To where you're able to forgive your father. He made a mistake, a horrible mistake in taking his life, but he was confused, panicked.”

“I get that. But he made a campaign out of harassing you.”

“What he did to me was wrong, and I'm not making excuses for him. But, you know, I've struggled with understanding myself and the way I think about things based on being abused as a kid. Or did think. I hope that I'm catching myself now and not falling into making the same mistakes again. The ways I've fucked up in the past do make me have empathy for William. I hear him crying when I'm in Blue Jungle Land and I know he's conflicted--”

“And miserable.” 

“Yeah,” Blair said. “I don't think he had anybody to help him through whatever trauma he experienced as a child. I hope we can help him now. I feel in my gut that his time is running out for passing on.”

I didn't want my father to stay an earth-bound ghost. 

This wasn't the first time Blair had mentioned that he thought Dad's hourglass was almost out of sand. Blair was a shaman, and I'd learned that you didn't blow off what a shaman told you.

Blair had done a ceremony for me on the way back to Cascade. He'd taken from me the black energy that darkened and damaged my soul and he'd given me his own energy to fill the empty places that were left. That was an extraction, a shamanic practice, and he'd done it with some help from the spirit world and because he'd accepted the calling to be a shaman. Blair had skills in dealing with the spirit world as much as he had talents for doing so many other things. 

I'd come out of that ceremony feeling lighter, more able to appreciate the good things in my life. It had taken a while for me to really understand how I'd changed for the better. I didn't want to return to being the way I was before Blair had helped me. 

I could choose to keep feeling angry with Dad, keep stoking that fire, but it would damage my soul. Letting my rage towards Dad go would help me as much as it would free him. 

I tugged Blair to me and kissed him. “I'm working on forgiving him, but I feel like I need to move. I think I'll go for a run while you meditate. Want to go to the gym afterwards, then meet up with Bev?”

“Sure. Gee, I haven't seen Bev in a while. Not since Bergman's trial. It'll be good to catch up. And Jim, when you're thinking about your dad, remember that he loved you, okay?”

I nodded, a lump in my throat suddenly. He had loved me. We'd reconnected finally, but all the years we'd been estranged were such a waste.

Blair hugged me again, in tune to the shift in my feelings, I supposed. I dropped a kiss on the top of his head and took a deep breath. “Tell Dad, if you talk to him, that I miss him.”

“I will. Have a good run.” He moved away from me and I put on my running shoes. I stood by the door and just watched Blair for a few moments as he arranged the living room to his satisfaction.

I left when he sat down in the middle of a ring of lit candles. 

xxx

 

I felt my mind clear as I shifted from my warmup speed into a faster, steady gait as I pounded down the trail. Blair had taught me to meditate back when he had become my guide, but for today I preferred to run to help me feel centered. My senses ranged, taking in the tang of the sea, the smell of damp vegetation. As usual in May, we'd had one rain shower already today and the smells of this wooded area reminded me of the rainforests of Peru. I inhaled deeply of the sweet scent of the coast rhododendron, and mulled over thoughts of my father while I pushed my body. 

I did want to forgive him. But I wasn't sure how to make myself do that. It just wasn't as easy as saying, “Okay, I forgive you.” Blair had been right. My father had loved me. He hadn't known how to let me and Steven know he cared for us, so he settled for trying to make us strong. He'd driven us all apart instead, but I did understand that he thought he'd been doing the right thing.

I let my mind go back to the day that Bud had been killed. I saw my father gripping me hard, ordering me not to be different. At the time, I'd felt he was saying he was ashamed of me. Blair had taught me to freeze a memory and examine it closely. Within my mind, I looked at my father's face. I hadn't seen the fear in his eyes back then. I saw it now.

He'd been afraid of something bad happening to me if people knew I wasn't like them. And thinking back, I could remember other times that he'd sent Steven and me that message. Don't be different; it's dangerous. Blend in, be the All-American Boy. Be a leader, but for the majority view. Get good grades but don't make waves by challenging the status quo. 

And then there were the rest of the mandates designed to keep me safe and by his side. Join the family business, where my role would be assured as the boss's son. Don't show weakness or what you're thinking to others. Don't let them find a chink in your armor. Keep your emotions to yourself, don't share them and give others a way to twist the knife in your gut.

We'd rebelled, Stevie and me. I went into the Army; Steven refused to work for him. 

I knew Dad had regretted how he had raised us. He'd tried so hard to make it up to both of us, once we'd reconciled. He'd made mistakes. Well, so had I. 

As I ran, the green hue of the woods on either side of the path shifted to the blue-green of the spirit plane. Yet, I knew I was still in Cascade. I could see a bench just off the path, and at the same time, in that same space, a wide rocky ledge on the spirit plane. 

It made me somewhat dizzy to take in both at the same time, but I kept to a constant pace, concentrating on what I saw in the spirit world.

Being simultaneously in the mundane world and the astral plane had happened a few time to Blair, I remembered. It continued to be a little disorienting, but I was managing. 

I was here for a reason, and the sooner I figured it out, the better. Listening to the sounds of the rainforest, I also heard the rising and falling tones of two whistles. I veered off the path, and slowed down till I was walking quietly towards where Blair was now talking to my father. 

Stealthily, I located a spot where I could observe them, but was too far away for them to hear or to see me. I wanted to pretend I did that so I wouldn't spook the boy my father appeared to be, but attempting to deceive myself was stupid. Probably my spirit guide would pounce on me if I even tried, and swipe a paw at my head to knock some sense into me. 

No, I was keeping my distance because I still wasn't ready to confront Dad. I might just go off on him like I did at his house, when he appeared as a ghost. It wouldn't help anything, and if I just wanted to vent my anger I could always run an extra couples of miles, or pound the bag at the gym into submission.

I settled down into my hiding place and watched as my partner reached out to the person who had tried to kill him. My dad had been a cute little boy, fair-haired, with long legs and arms, and dressed in old-fashioned shorts and a shirt. He was snuggling up to Blair as they sat together on a fallen tree trunk. Blair, who was wearing the most ridiculous pair of Bermudas I'd ever seen, put his arm around the kid and rocked him a little.

“Hey, hey. You know you can tell me what's been bothering you. It's all right, and you've been very brave, holding onto this secret for so long. But all secrets have a time when they stop being secrets. And this secret has been hurting you for a very long while now.”

The boy sniffled and nodded, more tears rolling down his cheeks. I felt a pang of sympathy for him.

Blair didn't say anything, just kept rocking William a little.

Finally, William scrubbed at his face with both hands. “Father was really angry. He said he'd already lost one son to this depravity and he wasn't going to lose another one. He whipped me with his belt. He whipped Johnny, too. He told Johnny's mother that she wasn't ever to come back and that if her sodomite son ever came near me again, he would have him beaten senseless.”

Oh, God. My dad had been sexually abused by this Johnny. But why had my grandfather whipped William, too? How could he have done that?” 

My grandfather had been a stern, tall man with stooped shoulders. He'd taken me aside sometimes and given me lectures on not letting down the family name, which had mostly just puzzled me. He'd died when I was eight years old, and it was the first funeral I ever attended. It was also the first time I saw my father wipe tears from his eyes.

Blair said, “That was really brave of you to tell me this, William. Can you tell me more about Johnny?”

The boy said sadly, “He was my friend. His mother helped my mother with the cleaning and cooking. Johnny would come too, after school and during the summer, and we would play.”

“Was Johnny older than you?”

“No. I was five months older than him. I haven't seen him since I was nine; my father gave his mama money to move away. I was bad. I was so bad. It was my fault. Father was right to whip me.” His voice wobbled, and a new procession of tears slowly began.

I frowned. What exactly had happened between those two young boys?

“What was your fault?”

“I didn't mean to do it! We were playing in my room, looking at my comics, and Johnny said that Superman was the best hero and I said that Captain America was the greatest and we started wrestling on the bed and we were laughing and I was on top of Johnny and I felt all funny and I did something that was very, very bad and my father came in the room telling us to be more quiet and he saw me doing it. He, he yelled at us and whipped us and made Johnny and his mama leave. And then he--”

William stuffed his knuckles in his mouth and shook, and Blair lifted the boy into his lap and started humming, arms wrapped around him. 

After a time, Blair said, “I'd like to hear more about what happened when you and Johnny were on the bed. You were playing and you were wrestling, and you were touching each other. Can you tell me more about how you were touching each other?”

William's voice dropped to a whisper. “My belly was on top of his belly, and I was pinning him down because I was winning, and he was smiling at me, and then I kissed him. On his lips, and he kissed me back. Father told us it was a sin and disgusting and that we would go to Hell, if we ever did it again.”

“I see. What happened after that?” Blair asked quietly. 

“He made me go with him that night to some very bad places where men and boys did bad things together. He told me that if I did the things I saw them doing nobody would want to be my friend and that the police would send me to prison, and after I died I would burn in Hell. He said I would have a terrible life. I didn't want that. And those men said things to me and one of them blew me kisses. I cried and cried. Father took me home and washed my face and said we must never tell Mother what Johnny and I had done, and that I must be strong and not give in to temptation and not ever touch other boys or let men touch me. He said that my brother Michael hadn't been strong. Michael was damned now, because he had kissed boys and touched them, and as long as he would not repent and stop being a faggot, that he had to be cast off from the family. I hadn't known that. Michael had gone to college and Mother would only say he lived too far away to visit.”

William took a couple of shuddery breaths. “I tried to be good. Father said that people would know I was a fag, a fairy, a catamite, if I looked at boys and smiled at them, and that the devil would take me away. He said if I couldn't stop my sick feelings then I must hide them away. And I did. When I was older sometimes I _would_ like a boy, but I wouldn't touch him. Father would read the Bible to me about Sodom and Gomorrah and how those places had been destroyed. He'd talk with me every so often, asking if I had touched any boys or if any men had touched me. He would whip me afterwards, so that I would remember what he had said.”

Listening to him, I was seething. My grandfather had been a dour old bastard, and his treatment of my father was mean and sadistic. And this was news about my uncle Michael. All I had known about him was that he had died young, from an illness. I'd never heard that he'd been estranged from the family. I wondered if Rucker's father, Thomas, had told Rucker about any of this before my uncle Thomas had died. Thomas was the eldest brother, and there was fifteen years difference between him and my father, who'd been the youngest of the three Ellison boys. God, the secrets families keep.

Blair shifted William from his lap, and knelt in front of the boy. He held William's shoulders and made eye contact.

“William, I know it was hard for you to tell me these things. You did a great job, kiddo. Now I want you to listen to me and think about what I'm going to tell you. You didn't do anything wrong. Kissing Johnny wasn't wrong, unless Johnny didn't want you to do it. But it sounds like he did. He kissed you back, after all.”

William nodded.

“That funny feeling you had was normal. Some boys kiss other boys when they're kids, but after they grow up a little more, they only want to kiss girls. Some boys end up liking both boys and girls. It's very normal, but some people think it's wrong. Other people think it's okay, and if you grow up only liking to kiss and touch other men, that's okay, too.”

William sniffled, and Blair petted his hair for a moment.

Blair said, “When you were young, most people thought it was wrong, but there were a lot of boys and girls, men and women, who liked their own sex the best. It didn't make them bad. It's the laws that were bad. They had to keep their feelings secret or people would act like your father did and hurt them and call them names. You didn't do anything wrong. Parents will tell their kids to wait until they're grown up before kissing and touching, but you know what? Almost everybody has kissed someone before they were all grown up. But you didn't do anything wrong. You were not a bad kid. Your father thought he was helping you, but instead I think he hurt you very badly.”

William was looking like he wanted to believe Blair but couldn't quite accept what he was saying.

“Your father took you to where men would come to meet other men to have sex with them. Sex is something that should only happen with people who are old enough to understand it and can give consent. Kids aren't old enough. Your father wanted to scare you; he should not have taken you to those places.”

William said, hesitantly, “We, we went to some inside places but we also went to a bathroom in the park and men stuck their private parts through holes, and some men touched them and some were sucking on them. Father said if I kissed boys I would have to do this, too. I didn't want to do that. What if somebody peed in my mouth?”

“William, what you saw were things for grownups only. When your body and mind grow up, things that look scary or silly when you're a little kid can be understood better. And when grownups have sex -- that's the word for touching each other so that it makes you and them feel very good -- all the people involved have to want the touching. That's called giving consent. And making other people watch without their consent is wrong. You didn't do anything wrong. But your father did. And touching people when they don't want you to or when they are too young or can't give consent because they're asleep or have drunk too much is wrong. Did anybody ever touch you without you giving consent?”

William shook his head. “No.”

“How long did your father have these talks with you?”

“Until I was thirteen. I walked Jane Malone home from school and I kissed her on her porch, and her mother saw me and called my mother to tell her that if I wanted to visit with Jane anymore, I couldn't kiss her, and that her mother or my mother would have to be in the room. Father shook my hand and told me he was proud of me. I didn't tell him I also wanted to kiss her older brother. I had learned my lesson and I didn't do it. I've never kissed any boys or men since Johnny, except...”

William fell silent. 

I remembered that Blair had said William had kissed him on the forehead after trying to smother him to death. 

Blair said kindly, “We'll probably need to talk about that sometime, but we don't have to right now. Did your father every do anything else that made you feel bad about yourself?”

William scuffed the ground with his shoes. “Michael died when I was twelve. Father told everyone else that Michael had gotten sick; he took me with him to San Francisco to claim his body from the morgue. He made me look at Michael, all naked, and he'd been beaten to death. His body was cut up and they'd carved 'fag' across his chest. Father said that Michael had been killed because he liked to touch men, and if I didn't want to be killed, I shouldn't ever be like Michael. It was awful. I had to throw up, and Father made me swear not to ever tell anybody because it would dishonor our family if people knew that Michael had become a fairy.”

Blair said, “I'm so sorry for your loss. I'm so sorry that you had to see Michael that way.”

“Father made them keep the casket shut during his funeral. I couldn't tell anybody about it, not even Thomas. Father said he would punish me if I did.”

“Your father has no power over you anymore. William, you did nothing wrong. You were not a bad boy. The feelings you had are a part of growing up. Do you believe me?”

William shrugged his shoulders.

“C'mere.”

Blair, still kneeling on the ground in front of my father, held his arms open and William threw himself into them. Blair whispered in his ear. “You're here because you need to heal. There's a path you should take to gain peace, but you've barred the way. You have four things to accomplish first so that your spirit can go into the light.”

Blair stroked William's hair.

“You must look back at the child you were and understand that you did nothing wrong. Your father was a frightened man, and he couldn't accept your brother or you. You had no way to control what he thought about you or what he did to you. But you can control how you feel about yourself. William, you did nothing wrong as a child. Accept that, so you can move forward. Your second task is to acknowledge that you have harmed me and your sons and you are sorry for your actions. Your third task is to ask for forgiveness for those actions and accept it when it is given to you. Lastly, you must forgive yourself so your spirit can go free.”

William didn't answer. Blair turned him loose, stood up, and stepped backwards a few steps.

“William James Ellison, father to my lover: I forgive you for trying to kill me. I forgive you for everything you did to drive me away from Jim. Please, accept my forgiveness.”

William nodded, his eyes huge looking and a little wild. 

“Your spirit animal is the weasel. He has the gift of intuition. Let his medicine help you, William. And Jim says to tell you that he misses you.”

William said tearfully, “I'm sorry,” and in a flash he had transformed into his animal spirit, and was gone through the brush.

Blair sighed and sat back down on the log.

“I'll see you back home, Jim.”

I wasn't surprised that he'd known I was here. I let my consciousness focus on the middle world, the earthly plane, and slowly the blue-green of the jungle shifted to the green foliage of the park. I rose from the ground where I'd been sitting under a tree, away from the path, and jogged on back to my truck.

I sat in it and wiped the moisture off my face that once I would have told myself was just drizzle from the light rain that had started up a little while ago. 

I was braver than that these days and I let myself grieve for my father. And like a spring thaw that finally cracks open winter's ice, I felt forgiveness for him.

 

Xxx


	17. Chapter 17

Nobody watching Blair joking and scarfing down pizza with Bev and her friend from Vancouver – the Washington state city, not the Canadian one -- would ever guess that he'd conducted an intense session on the spiritual plane just hours ago. 

We'd talked for a while after I returned home. Hearing how my grandfather had treated his sons had been a punch in the gut. With that kind of role model, my dad had done better as a parent than I'd realized. He had never viciously whipped Steven and me, although I remembered a few spankings. Deserved, though. The time I'd crayoned all over the walls came to mind. 

Blair thought it was interesting that Dad hadn't tried to install homophobia in me or my brother. He'd actually tried to teach us to be tolerant of other people.

Still didn't mean he wanted his sons to be different. I wondered what he would have done if he'd caught me making out with one of the boys I'd been attracted to as a teen. 

His trying to send Blair away made sense. His father had done that with Johnny. 

I felt for the abused kid my dad had been. I had questions for the adult he'd become, and I was ready to ask them. Blair and I agreed we'd try again tonight or tomorrow to question him. Blair was feeling very protective of William-the-child, and I assured him that if William chose to appear as a kid again, I wouldn't be harsh with him. 

I wouldn't make the same promise about the adult that little boy had grown up to be. 

After we'd dissected the whole encounter, though, we both were looking forward to a break. So we had hit the gym before heading over to Rosa's to hang out with Bev.

Her pal was a deputy district attorney, about forty-five years old, attractive, dark-haired and dark-eyed, and well-muscled He and Bev were obviously good friends, but it wasn't her he was interested in courting.

It was Blair.

I'd figured it out fairly quickly. The guy kept shooting these assessing looks at Blair, in between smiling at him. He was more subtle at it then at questioning a witness on the stand, but he was definitely conducting an interrogation. It was like he was deciding if he wanted to date Blair or not.

Blair had caught on, too. We were sitting next to each other in the booth, and he entwined our legs together, body language for “I'm with you.” I patted Blair on the thigh to let him know I wasn't going to revert to being a jealous asshole just because someone else showed some interest in him.

Joshua Rickman asked a lot of questions about Blair's former role in Major Crimes. Beverly brought up cases she knew about where Blair's assistance had been invaluable. She emphasized how Blair had risked being shot at to help save her life, and how Bergman had been caught because Blair had played bait. 

It started being sort of a contest between Bev and me. She'd mention a case where Blair had played a pivotal role and then I'd jump in with one where he'd saved other people's lives or had saved my bacon. Blair dug his elbow in my side a few times to shut me up, but I've had training to withstand torture. Besides, I reasoned, after all the shit that had been dumped on Blair's reputation, it was about time he got to hear some good opinions about himself.

Joshua held his hand up after I'd laid it on about how Blair had rescued me from drowning in a vat of black oil while on a n oil rig during a case. I explained that he'd figured out how to lower machinery into that damned tank so I could climb up, and then had ignored his own safety in order to stop a ticking bomb from sending trapped men to the bottom of the sea. 

“Have you had training in bomb defusing, Blair?” Joshua asked.

“No. Well, Joel, one of the guys I observed in Major Crimes, showed me a few things, but I think that was after that time on the rig. And let me tell you right now, I was scared to death. I had to lie down after the clock stopped on the bomb, I was that shaky. Man, only seconds were left on the thing.” 

He gave an exaggerated shudder and then grinned at us. “Don't let these two give you the wrong idea about me. I'm really not the hero type. Now Jim, he's the one that does things like handcuff himself to a freaking helicopter when it's trying to take off with a couple of homegrown terrorists. He's definitely the hero type. I'm more of a sidekick.” 

Sidekick, my ass, I thought. We were going to have a talk about that when we got home. Partner was the correct term.

“Well, you've had a lot of training in other areas, I hear. A masters in anthropology, a minor in psychology, and I understand you're working on your Ph.D in anthropology?”

Blair said, “Yes,” and gave Bev a questioning look. 

Rickman said, “You've done some interesting research, gone on quite a few expeditions.” He raised his eyebrow. “And now you're driving semis, correct?”

I shot Beverly a look, too. This guy knew a hell of a lot about Blair for someone who had met us for a casual night out with a friend.

Beverly winked at me. From the look on her face, she was up to something. I suddenly doubted she'd brought Joshua along just for his company. Besides, while her friend was showing a lot of interest in Blair, I still hadn't detected any signs of the guy being sexually aroused. 

Blair said yes, he was driving big rigs. He spin doctored things a bit, telling them how he enjoyed seeing sights around the country and being a participant-observer within a blue-collar occupation. He kept his mouth shut about the long hours and the loneliness. He didn't talk about how he sometimes got harassed if he picked the wrong place to catch a meal. 

Now that he was controlling the conversation, he focused on asking Beverly and Joshua about the conference they'd just attended and their jobs, and for Joshua, questions about Vancouver. 

The Couve, Joshua said, had recently expanded and was expected to keep growing. Portland being right across the river meant that there was easy access to the perks of being near a large city, but Vancouver had a lower cost of living, cheaper housing, and better schools. 

He said he enjoyed his work and thought that his entire department worked well together. He glanced at Bev and nodded, and she stood up.

“Jim, Blair, it's been great to see you guys again. I'm going to head home, but Joshua has something to discuss with Blair. Call me soon. I'd love to do this again.”

Suddenly I remembered me asking Bev to keep an eye out for a job for Blair. Looks like Joshua had wanted to form his own opinion before actually discussing any potential employment with my partner.

I stood up, too. “Bev, I'll walk you out to your car.”

She said her goodbyes to Joshua, and I leaned over Blair and gave him a kiss. Might as well put our relationship out there and find out right now if it was going to be a problem. 

Blair said, as I straightened up, “Love you too, Jim. Give us a few minutes, okay?”

I nodded, and Bev and I walked out to the parking lot. She filled me in on why she'd brought Joshua to meet Blair, and I gave her a warm hug and thanked her for her help.

xxx

“So, if Bev hadn't already clued you in, or if you hadn't figured it out yet, Jim and I are in a committed relationship. And I'm curious to hear what we have to discuss, if that's still on the table.” I picked up my bottle of Sam Adams and readied myself for whatever Joshua was cooking up.

He waved his hand carelessly. “Congratulations to you and Jim. From the stories I've heard tonight, it seems you have a very solid partnership.” He beckoned a waitress over and asked for a refill on his iced tea.

Almost sternly, he said, “Now let me be honest with you. Frankly, admitting to being fraudulent with your research on sentinels should disqualify you from any consideration from me.”

“You checked me out.” Oh, joy.

“Yes, I've done my homework on you, although the whole idea of sentinels sounds like science fiction.” He sounded a little wry. 

Then he flicked his index finger towards me, “As I was saying, you falsified your research, according to your press conference. But you admitted to it, and technically, you hadn't turned in your dissertation. What that does is leave things in a very gray area. The media portrayed you as a man so greedy and lacking in ethics that you abused the trust of your research subject and wrote reams of lies about him. But I'm finding it hard to believe that a man like that turned down a sizable amount of money for the release of his research in order to drive trucks for a living.” He leaned back against the back of the booth, studying me like I was an interesting bug or something.

I said mildly, “Why do you care about any of it? I mean, we're strangers, and yeah, I can see how you could feel indignant that I tried to cheat, but why meet with me? Do you feel a burning need to lecture me on my shoddy ethics, or something?” I should just brush off what he was saying – he didn't know the truth -- but I'd enjoyed talking to him tonight, and I was confused now. And maybe a little hurt. Did Beverly know he was going to jump me about the diss? That seemed crazy. Bev had been nothing but nice to me ever since we'd first met. For a while, I thought she and Jim might kindle something, but they'd let that fire die. We were all friendly, though, so it didn't make sense for her to arrange this meeting tonight so this stranger could bust my chops over my failings.

Straightening up, he started tapping his fingers impatiently against his glass. “What I think,” he said slowly, “is that you did lie, but not about your research. And it's only important to me because it speaks to your character. I mentioned that I'm a deputy district attorney for Clark County. My office is in Vancouver, and I'm recruiting top-notch people to apply for two positions that are opening up for prosecuting attorney investigators.”

I started twisting the beer bottle around and around. This was about a possible job. “Um, two positions?”

Nodding, he said, “Yes. One of our investigators is retiring, and the other is moving across the river to be an investigator for Portland's team. I'm of the opinion that your skills and experience would make you a good addition to our team. I understand that you have a home here in Cascade, but Vancouver and Portland have a lot to offer. For one thing, it could be a fresh start for you and Jim. I know from Bev that the two of you have had a lot of unwanted media attention ever since you held that press conference. I doubt the _Columbian_ would follow in the Cascade papers' footsteps.”

Joshua got his wallet out and gave me his business card. “You're a problem solver, Blair, and an anthropologist would bring a unique viewpoint to the team, as you appear to have done with your work as a consultant for Major Crimes here in Cascade. You're experienced with police procedures and investigations.”

Clearing his throat, he gave me a small smile. “I, ah, admit that it took some convincing by Beverly before I agreed to come and meet you. I'm glad that she prevailed, though, because while I think there is more to the story of you destroying your reputation, I've been impressed tonight, and I'd like you to come and interview for the position.”

I struggled not to gape at him. An investigator? That could be interesting, but I wanted more details. “What qualifications would I need, exactly? And what would the job entail?”

He said, “The job information is posted at the website on my business card, but basically, you've got the education and the three to five years experience needed in investigations from being a consultant with Major Crimes. You don't have to have been an actual police officer, although we do have a lot of applicants who are retired cops. You work in a team, as I said, with other investigators, legal assistants, victim advocates and deputy prosecuting attorneys. Your supervisor would be one of the prosecuting attorneys. You would liaison with the police, conduct interviews, gather and analyze data for reports, track down witnesses, serve subpoenas and summons, and investigate all claims against city employees, for starters.”

He leaned forward. “I didn't just take Beverly's word about you. I called around in Cascade, checked with the Seattle police. I've been impressed by what I've heard about your abilities to handle people. You say that you're not the hero type, but you've done heroic things. You've put yourself at risk for other people.” I looked away, feeling embarrassed.

He touched my arm, and I refocused my attention on him.

“Look. I want to be realistic; that whole mess about claiming to be a fraud will hurt your chances of landing the job, if you apply. But I'm encouraging you to come down and interview with us anyway. In person, I think you can sway people to give you a chance. Apply on-line and send us your resume by email. I'll make sure you get a fair shake when you talk to the rest of the hiring committee. And the Vancouver P.D. is accepting lateral transfers, if Jim is interested in changing jobs. Vancouver isn't Cascade; we don't get as much in the way of high-profile cases, but we've got a good department. Or he could apply to Portland's P.D. If he was able to transfer to our P.D, though, and if you were hired, you could be assigned to his department. Blair, I'm saying you could work together again, although not exclusively. From what I've heard from Simon Banks, you two made a helluva team.” 

He stood up. I followed suit, and we shook hands. “One last thing, Blair. If you get the job you need to get a concealed weapons permit. Are you familiar with firearms?”

I straightened and said evenly, “I've used them, when I've had to. I was prepared to go to the police academy at one time, so, yeah, if there's no other way and to save a life, I'll use a gun.” 

“Some additional documentation on passing written and skills firearms tests will be needed, as well.” He smiled warmly at me, “Good luck, Blair. I hope to see you soon. We plan to begin interviewing in two weeks. One job starts in July, the other in August.”

He walked briskly through the restaurant and I sat back down, in a bit of a daze. I'd check out the details of the posting on the website he'd given me when we went home. Jim and I were going to have to talk about this. I wasn't sure he really wanted to move, although he'd mentioned it as a possibility. Hell, I wasn't sure I wanted to move. Cascade was my home. I'd lived here, except for last year and when I was on expeditions, for almost fifteen years. I loved Jim's loft. And I did have another possible job with the advertising company. Being an ethnographer could work out. 

I stood back up and whispered, “Jim, let's go. I'll meet you at the truck.”

He had the motor running by the time I climbed in, and he pulled out of the parking lot towards home. I was bursting with conflicting feelings and when Jim looked over at me, I started babbling. 

“You were listening, right? I'm feeling kind of blown away, and Bev, she set this up, and that was so nice of her to recommend me for this investigator position and it does sound like a really cool job, but then we'd have to move and this is your city, Jim. You're Cascade's sentinel, and these people are your _tribe_ , and this is your home. You belong here. You know, I wasn't sure I'd ever feel like Cascade was my home again after you brought me back here, but even though an entire busload of crap has come down on us, I think this does feel like home. Kind of a shitty one, I guess, but it's familiar, you know. I mean, I've lived in lots of other places when I was a kid and I've traveled as an anthropologist, but ever since I started college I guess I've tagged Cascade as the old home base. I love our loft, and, man, you're _established_ here. You have friends and Steven and Simon. You've been honored as the cop of the year by your colleagues. You're one of the senior detectives in Major Crimes, and being a cop in Vancouver will be like being sent down from the major leagues to the minors, and I can't ask that of you, to uproot yourself like that. I won't apply, okay. I can do that ethnographer job if I get hired and when it's over, if they don't have a new study for me to help with, something else will come along, or I can go back to driving again, or--”

Jim pulled onto a side street and parked. 

“Okay, take a deep breath, Blair, and let it out slowly. Don't try talking until I tell you to, understand?” 

“But--”

“Breathe. Just breathe for a while, and then I've got something to say.”

He placed his hand over my heart, and said encouragingly, as I did as he said and slowed my breathing, “Good. You're doing better. Your heartbeat is slowing back down. Hang on for a little longer, Chief, and then we'll talk.”

He changed to just holding my hand after those long minutes had ticked by. 

“All right. Let's get some assumptions out of the way. You made me sound like I'm bonded to Cascade, that I'm like a serf, tied to this piece of real estate. I'm not, Blair. I'm really not. I joined the Army, and when I did my people became those men who were in my unit. When I lost them in Peru the Chopec became my people until I was recalled. I returned to Cascade because it had been my home as a kid and it was familiar, but there was no compulsion to only live here. I guess you could say that I am Cascade's sentinel, but if we move somewhere else, that would change. I would consider myself a sentinel of that new city or area.”

He squeezed my hand. “Blair, I go to work. I do my job. I work hard, but I can't say I really enjoy being in Major Crimes anymore. People are still making comments about Dad, and you, and speculating way too much about my sexual orientation. To be fair, they're not often making those comments to _me_ but I hear them just the same. It's gotten old. And the guys we used to be tight with have moved on: Simon, Conner, Henri, Rafe. And now that Joel's retired, I don't particularly feel connected to anybody who's a co-worker. I'm in a dead end there, so let's not cross out moving to Vancouver because you don't think I would welcome a change. And I'm still pissed about how you were treated. Are still treated. I can't even take you up with me to the bullpen. On my end, getting to spend time with you on the job again is nothing but a plus.”

I sighed. “Jim, man, I love you, but just how much of that situation with Major Crimes is because you're sitting at your pristine desk, glowering at people if they annoy you. Are you _trying_ to make friends with the current crew? Or are you sending out 'Don't talk to me unless it relates to a case' vibes?”

Jim furrowed his brow, thinking it over. “Yeah, it might partly be my fault, but it's hard for me to say to somebody, 'Hey, want to get some lunch together,' or ask them if they want to stop and get a beer after work, when I've heard them speculating on which one of us fucks the other one.”

“And you don't think Henri has probably said the same stuff?”

“He has. But he makes it clear that he considers us all friends and... it's just different. Also, he doesn't say things behind my back. If he's going to be crude and rude it's when I'm there to zing him, too, so it ends up just being a lot of bullshitting. Another thing. Cascade has a lot of sad memories for me. I really wouldn't mind making a clean break.” 

“What about leaving the loft?”

“Babe, it's been a great place to live in, but that doesn't mean we can't find a good place if we move. We both like it out in the country; it's just been convenient to live right in the city. We should talk about that some more. I keep picturing you making a garden for fresh vegetables and growing those herbs you like to make into remedies for this and that.”

“Does that mean if I grow my own herbs you'd swallow my concoctions?”

He just laughed and I smiled, relaxing a little more.

Jim squeezed my hand. “Some woods nearby or on our property would be nice. It's always surprising to me when we go camping away from the noises in the city how much more relaxed I feel. And we could have a workshop for your welding, and I've been thinking about trying out some woodworking.”

Jim had mentioned this before to me, about the garden and workshops. But we could maybe do some rooftop gardening at the loft. Maybe even put up a small workshop up there, too. 

I might be seeing what I wanted to see. Jim as the “Sentinel of the Great City” instead of Jim, a man who just happened to be a sentinel. This was something I should pursue in meditation. 

Jim added, “And as far as gay-friendly places to live, Vancouver's pretty good, I hear.” 

I knew that. Unlike some cities, Vancouver didn't have mostly gay neighborhoods, but the research data indicated same-sex couples were fairly well represented in all areas of the city. I liked that idea. My sexual orientation was not how I wanted to be defined, anyway. 

“Jim, you're making a good case for moving. If I decide to apply for the job. If I get the job. Are there any other reasons to move to Vancouver if I'm offered the job?”

Jim nodded slowly. “Maybe. I'm still thinking it through for myself, Chief, but when I figure it out, I'll tell you. Promise.”

He looked thoughtful. “Blair, I know you decided to go to Rainier to get away from your abuser without having to let your mom know anything about it, but then he was killed. So why did you decide to go to Rainier after he was out of the way? I mean, you could have traveled with your mom, or gotten a job somewhere.”

I was silent for a minute, thinking. “I guess I just felt I was ready for a change. Rainier offered me a scholarship so that was a big influence.”

“Well, I'm feeling like it's time for a change. I'm not so stuck in my ways that I can't do something different. I decided to join the Army, I decided to leave the Army and become a cop. And now, I'm feeling like it's time for something new, something better. But most of all, I want whatever we decide to be something that fulfills you.”

Jim looked so earnest, so concerned. Goddess, I loved him.

“Hey, let's have some faith in the universe that things will work out. I think I'm done panicking for now, so let's head for home, James.”

He let go of my hand and started up the truck. “We got any beer there?”

“I don't remember. Want to visualize the fridge's contents, see what's in your memory?”

“Not really. Let's just stop on the way, get some beer and some pretzels and chips. No harm in being fortified for the rest of the discussion tonight.”

I snorted, and then outright laughed. It was so good to be home and spending time with Jim. I wasn't looking forward to leaving again in a few days.

xxx

In the end we decided I'd apply to the Vancouver P.D., and Blair would do the second interview for the ethnographer job and drive down to Vancouver and interview for the investigator position. If he got a solid job offer from either one, or both, or possibly another position, then we'd figure out our options. He wondered about trying for a state investigator job here in Cascade, but I'd already thought about that and had asked Bev's opinion when we'd talked out in the parking lot. It was a “Sorry, Charlie” kind of deal, she'd said. She'd put out feelers with her boss, and he'd said no. Blair's relationship with the PD and the Chief of Police was just too damaged. 

He did jump on his computer and check out the posted job description. I read it over his shoulder and thought it would suit him to a T. It was a lot of the same skills that he would have used as a detective. When I retired from active police work, I might even see about getting hired on, if Blair was still there. 

He asked if I'd go with him down to the firing range so he could practice. He wanted to take the test results with him when he had his interview, as well as his permit to carry concealed weapons. 

He yawned, and said he'd apply tomorrow. We ended up drinking one last beer and watching an old Bonanza rerun, and Blair kidded me about the time I'd tried to learn a Texas accent from that show. 

“Let's hear that Texas twang, pardner.”

“You're never going to let me forget that, are you?”

“Nope. One of the perks of married life, I guess.”

“I can think of some better ones.” I took the half-full beer from his hand and set it on the coffee table with my empty one. I tugged at him until he was sideways in my lap, a heavy, pleasant weight across me. I kissed his neck -- I've always loved kissing Blair's neck – and he made an encouraging, interested sound. Blair's always loved me kissing his neck, too. On impulse, I shifted his hair and traced the faint scar from the bite my spirit guide had given him. Tenderly, I gently bit him again on that exact place. Blair made a needy, demanding plea that clearly communicated what he wanted from me, without ever voicing a single word.

I had a theory that the scar that marked Blair as mine had become such an erogenous spot because of the connection to the spirit world. I wasn't sure why. I just knew that I was drawn to it, to lick it and bite it and kiss it. Blair's body would become so pliant; he could come just from me doing those things to it. I was glad his scar didn't hurt him or feel weird when I touched it. Other than having nerve endings directly tied to his dick. That I considered a bonus.

“Down here, like this, or upstairs. Choose, Blair.”

He gave a groan of frustration but slowly slid off my lap. “Let's get comfortable in bed. The last time we did it on the couch, you ended up with a crick in your neck, remember?”

If we moved, I was getting rid of this couch. I wanted one big enough that we could make out or sleep together on it in comfort.

“Good point. But once we're up in bed, I'm picking up where I left off.” 

His eyes darkened, and widened, and my favorite scent in the world started filling the air.

Oh, yeah. Having Blair home was such a treat.

xxx

The phone ringing was a welcome distraction from my thoughts, and I eagerly answered it, hoping it was Blair. He had left that morning to drive to Sacramento and would be back tomorrow. It was a short run, but I missed him when he wasn't home. We'd had a busy couple of weeks. Blair did the second interview for the ethnographer job and then drove to Vancouver. He said the committee interviewing him for the investigator position had grilled him pretty good, but he felt they'd been fair. He'd also done runs to Bismarck, Salt Lake City, Denver, and Oklahoma City. 

“Hi,” Blair said, his voice warm and comforting. “It's me. I'm all tucked up in my bunk, and I was thinking about you. Did you wrap up your case today?”

“Nah, the feds took it over. I swear they wait until we get all the legwork done, and then it's 'we'll take it from here.' I think our perp headed out of state, but they think he's just holed up.”

“You don't sound that concerned.”

“I'm not. The feds are welcome to that joker. Hey, I heard from the Vancouver P.D, though. I'm scheduled for oral and written testing a week from next Monday. Want to come along? Check out what Vancouver and Portland have to offer?”

“You bet. I'll see if I can be scheduled off for two or three days so we can have time to really look around.” Blair sounded excited, but then I heard him take a deep breath. “We're just checking out our options, right? I mean, just because we're both applying for jobs in Vancouver doesn't mean we're going to move. I'm still processing what feels right, and really, I'm still sitting firmly on the fence. What about you?”

“I'll follow your lead.” 

Blair said, a stubborn tone to his voice, “No, I want to know what you really think.”

I laughed at him. “Blair, I've already told you that I'd be fine with moving to Vancouver and I'd welcome the change. But if you want to stay in Cascade, I'll be okay. You know that I did what you asked and started acting more friendly with some of the people in Major Crimes.”

“And?”

“It's possible that a few of them have some potential to be decent enough to work with. Oh, and I went out to lunch with Henri today. Boy, you should see his pictures of the baby. She's really grown. She'll be crawling soon. Hey, he said we should come over for poker and barbeque when you get back. He said he'd get Simon and maybe Daryl over, too. And Joel. Want to go?”

“A chance to relieve you guys of your cash _and_ play with the baby?” he teased. “Sounds good to me. And speaking of barbeque, we're still taking Steven out to Jimmy-Jack's when I get back, correct?”

“Yep. I called him today and confirmed that he's free on his birthday. He, uh, was asking about when we thought we could put Dad's house on the market. I told him not yet. I told him we thought Dad was still around, just kind of hiding from us. I swear, if he hadn't seen Dad's ghost, too, he would have thought I'd gone off the deep end when I told him about the spirit plane and how we can go there.”

Blair chuckled. “It does sound strange, but then you're a sentinel and I'm a shaman. Weird comes with the territory. I'm going to try again before I go to sleep to see if I can find your dad. I'm not sure how time would be measured on the spirit plane, but I know he doesn't have much left. Why don't you try to meditate, too? Maybe we can meet up at the pool.”

“I'll try. See you in the flesh tomorrow.”

I told him I loved him then and reluctantly hung up the phone, and headed up to bed myself. 

Blair had suggested meditating, but I did best with him guiding me through it. I wasn't about to light a bunch of candles like he usually did. If I zoned, I didn't want a fire to start. 

Blair was much better at sending himself to the spirit plane than I was. Most of the times I'd gone to Blue Jungle Land – Blair's name for the spirit plane was permanently stuck in my head now – had been when I'd gone to sleep first. 

Turning out the lights, I got comfortable in bed. I stared up at the skylight and tried to ignore the fact that it could use a good cleaning. 

I focused on one star, bright enough to be seen through city lights, and slowed my breath. If we had a house out in the country, we'd see so many more stars...

I breathed evenly and thought about the path through the jungle to the pool Blair and I liked to soak in. I thought then about my father. I wanted closure with him. I wanted to tell him I loved him. Funny how we don't tell the people we love that enough. I had started telling Blair that every day. Sometimes I'd whisper it against his skin, an invisible tattoo of my desire, my love for him. Other times, it was just a part of everyday life. A message on his cell phone: “Pick up some groceries on your way home, Chief. Love you. Bye.” Or, I'd tell him when he left to go to work: “Drive safely, I love you.” 

Blinking heavily, I felt myself falling asleep, Blair was always annoyed with himself if he fell asleep while meditating, since it's apparently sort of an amateur move, but I never cared when I did it. I turned my head at the sound of soft feet padding towards me and saw the black jaguar. My last thought was that he was there to show me the way, and I stared into his eyes until mine closed.

 

XXX

 

_I ran on the jungle paths, my body marked with Chopec symbols, wearing my worn camos. The jaguar was ahead of me, and I ran faster to catch up to him. Deeper and deeper into the dense vegetation I followed him, sometimes losing sight of him as the path twisted and turned. Abruptly he left the path and bounded up a steep hill and disappeared behind a jagged outcrop of rock. I didn't stop to consider if it was wise to leave the path or not; I trusted my spirit guide implicitly. I followed him._

_When I climbed around the boulders I saw the jaguar waiting for me at the mouth of a large cave, high above me. I found hand and toe holds and raised myself bit by bit until I had pulled myself up onto the wide ledge before the cave entrance. My spirit guide came towards me; as he did, he morphed into my image. He reached out his hand in a gesture of welcome, and I grasped it, letting my fingers slide down his arm to lock above his wrist in a warrior's greeting. He mirrored my actions, then released me._

_“Greetings, Enqueri. Come sit by the fire and talk.” He turned and I followed him into the cave, which was large and dry. There was a small campfire burning and I sat down cross-legged across from him._

_“Why have you brought me to this place? Is there a problem with my guide?”_

_My spirit-twin shook his head. “He sorrows for the plight of one he considers to be kin. He asks that you stand with him and that together you help the lost one to find the way all souls must take.”_

_“I came to do just that. So why are we talking instead of me meeting my little shaman. What must I do first?”_

_“You must be patient, Enqueri. Gaze into the fire and let your mind clear. Then ask for help regarding what troubles you about your future. One who has traveled that path will answer. You must face your fears to have peace. I go to bring the little shaman.”_

_He morphed back into the jaguar and bounded out of the cave._

_I did as he asked, watching the small branches sizzle and burn bright, small explosions of sparks illuminating the dimness around me._

_My spirit guide was a great one for telling me to face my fears. We'd had some interesting conversations in the past on that topic._

_It wasn't my fear that my father would remain a ghost that my spiritual adviser wanted me to consider, though. There was no ambivalence about that at all. I wanted Dad to find peace and move on, and I was ready to tell him I forgave him. I had thought that I needed him to explain himself, but I was a detective. I had put the pieces together about his motivation for deciding to kill Blair. Well, most of the pieces. I wasn't sure what Blair had said to him that triggered my father's impulsive plan to lure Blair to come see him so he could poison him. I would like to know those kinds of details. And I wanted the name of his contact. The person who had hired the hit-men and sent the two guys who'd come to clean up Dad's mess for him. The P.D. probably couldn't charge the asshole for Blair's case, but an undercover operation could take him down._

_God, I could still get shivers remembering the close call Blair had experienced that day. If Henri had checked on Blair even ten minutes later, Blair might have been smothered to death._

_The big picture I felt I understood when it came to Dad's actions. He'd internalized my grandfather's message of disgust and fear about men having same-sex relations at such a young age that for the rest of his life he'd been just reacting to situations that triggered it without doing any critical thinking about why he felt the way he did. I thought Dad had been bi-sexual, but so severely repressed about it that he couldn't let himself act in any way that would let the outside world know that he sometimes was attracted to another boy or man._

_He hadn't wanted me to be like him. He'd feared that I'd end up like his brother Michael when he realized that I was attracted to Blair. Dad didn't know that I'd been having sexual encounters with my own sex since I was a teenager. He'd thought Blair was leading me down a path that would end in my utter destruction. Blair had to be removed, sent away, and finally killed, all to keep me safe. He must have thought that without Blair around to seduce me, I'd stay safely heterosexual._

_And yet, he also could see that Blair was a good man. Blair is hard to resist, to dislike, even when he's being deliberately annoying, and he wanted Dad to like him. He was always charming and helpful when we met with my father. I think that Dad became fond of Blair, even as he cast him as the villain in our little drama. In the letters he'd sent to some of Blair's employers, he'd said Blair was suspected of being a sex offender. In Dad's eyes, I guess Blair was, since Dad was convinced Blair was seducing me into homosexuality._

_Poor Dad. The cognitive dissonance must have given him migraines._

_It couldn't have been easy for him, as a father, to watch his son flirting with danger. And he wasn't exactly wrong, either. Incidents of gay-bashing and discrimination happened every day._

_Being a parent, I'd been thinking for a while now, had to be terrifying at times._

_Being a parent was something I'd been considering lately._

_I hadn't said anything to Blair yet because I wasn't sure I did want to be a father. I mean, look at my family tree. My grandfather had done hideous things as a parent. My dad had been so wrapped up in his business that he'd had little time for Stevie and me, and when he did take an active role he ended up alienating me from my brother. And yet he had loved us. I knew that, too. God, if you learn how to be a parent from your own parents, then any kid of mine was screwed._

_Moodily, I stood up and walked to where branches had been roughly stacked at the front of the cave I grabbed an armful to feed to the fire, then I heard a soft movement behind me._

_From the back of the cave, something small was stealthily coming forward._

_I slowly walked back to the fire and crouched down, adding new sticks of wood to it in a pattern that would ensure the flames would blaze up. I heard the movement again, the soft, fast exhalation of breath. I kept my eyes on the front of the cave, hoping that Blair would arrive now. He knew how to handle William. Especially if William chose to appear as a child again._

_The footsteps changed, four feet became two, the fast breaths slowing into deeper ones._

_I could smell my dad's aftershave. He'd been an Old Spice man ever since I could remember._

_A hand came to rest on my shoulder. I closed my eyes._

_“Jimmy.”_

_I rose and turned, saw my father as he'd been in the last year of his life. Tall, handsome, wearing dress slacks, and an expensive button-down shirt, he looked like the confident business man he'd been. It was all a front, a disguise, one that I could see past when I looked into his eyes._

_He was dreading this encounter. He was terrified of what I was going to say to him._

_“Dad. You know, you're good at hiding. Blair and I have been looking for you.”_

_He nodded, took a deep breath. “I'm good at hiding because I've been doing it since I was nine years old. Hiding from myself, mostly, but from your mother and brother, too, and from my friends. It's what I know how to do.”_

_“You're not hiding now.”_

_He looked at me beseechingly. “Because we need to talk. About quite a few things, but when your spirit guide found me in this cave, he told me what's been on your mind. Jimmy, I want to help you; I'm your father.”_

_“Actually, Dad, it's because you are my father that I'm having trouble figuring out what I should do. I don't want to be the kind of father that you were. I've caught myself setting Blair up for no-win situations sometimes, like you used to do to Stevie and me. I'd rather not be a parent than treat a kid like that.”_

_“Trust yourself, Jimmy. You'll break the cycle that I learned from my father, and you won't make the mistakes that I did. I tried to make you and Steven tough by pitting you against each other for my favor. To teach you that you both had to compete with each other and stay sharp, not let your guard down. You know what a failure that approach was.”_

_“It just made us resent each other.” I pressed my hand hard against my suddenly rock hard neck muscles._

_Dad looked guilty. “That wasn't everything. I let my career consume my time, and I told myself I was being a good provider. I was doing it all for you and Steven, paving the way for you boys to join my company. I learned too late that I could never take that time back, to simply play with you boys, go to your games, watch your school plays. Read stories to you. Oh, I would tiptoe into your rooms when you boys were asleep. I'd cover you and Steven up, but I could be tender then because you boys couldn't see me. I thought a father should be stern, like my father had been. But that was me.”_

_He stepped a little closer. “Jimmy, I watched you with your brother when you were little. You were protective and kind to him. Your coaches told me how you would take the younger players under your wing. You volunteered as a Big Brother and from what I learned you did a great job of mentoring that youngster, Danny. I don't believe you would ignore any children of yours. I believe you would lay down your life for them. If I have any advice for you at all, it would be to listen to them, and be fair with them. I learned that lesson far too late to benefit you and Steven. Hold them, hug them, don't be afraid to express love towards them. Accept them for who they are, and support them. I tried to mold you and your brother into, well, not my image, but how I thought a successful man should be. I was so wrong, but Jimmy, you would be a good father.”_

_“If you had it to do over, would you have stayed childless?”_

_“You were wanted, Jimmy, and so was Steven. I wish that I could go back in time with what I've learned and be a better father to you both. I've made such mistakes. I remember the first time I held you, when your mother was so tired one night and you were fussy and hungry. I was half afraid that I would drop you, but I didn't. You sucked the bottle till it was empty and then looked at me. You know, you still make that same expression sometimes. And I cuddled you and promised you and myself that I'd always protect you.”_

_He bit his lip and then blurted out, “I'm so sorry, Jim. I'm so very sorry for what I did to you and Blair. I thought I was keeping that promise by sending Blair away. It's not safe to be a homosexual, and I didn't want Blair there to tempt you. Oh, I could see why you liked him. Loved him. Truth to tell, I liked him, too. But he was dangerous for you to be around. I was afraid you would track him down, that's why I kept tabs on him, so I could keep him moving to new places. I thought in another year or two, you would have forgotten about him, and I would have stopped the harassment. That year after he left was just too soon to leave him alone; you were still feeling so hurt by his abandoning you. I was afraid you might go looking for him. Each month that went by with you staying in Cascade made me feel a little easier. But then he turned up in that little town in Tennessee and you went to see him. When Sullivan told me that, I knew I couldn't take a chance on you falling back under his spell.”_

_I interrupted him. “Dad, who did you hire to take the hit out on Blair? I want to nail his ass.”_

_“I owe you that information, I know. Rick Davis, the head of Davis Shipping. I had heard things about him for years. Rumors mostly, but I sent out feelers and he said he would take care of it. For a price, of course.”_

_I said, more to myself than my father, “He subbed that job out to local Tennessee talent.”_

_Dad nodded. “Yes, I gathered as much. When Sully, ah, Captain Sullivan, told me that Blair had escaped death and returned to Cascade with you, I tried to contact Davis again, but was only able to leave a message for him to get in touch. I really wasn't sure what to tell him. I was hoping that you and Blair were still estranged and that you were safe. But then I talked to Blair on the phone, and the way he said your name told me he had feelings still for you. He told me you had lent him your phone and he said he would see you that night. I knew then that it was too late. He had snared you again. I felt so desperate, and when Blair agreed to see me, and to not tell anyone, I decided to take care of the problem myself.”_

_“The problem! The problem has a name, and a_ life _, Dad!”_

_“You're right. Of course I see how wrong I was now, but on that night, I thought maybe things could still be salvaged if Blair was dead. I decided to sacrifice Blair myself to save you.” He looked away for a moment and then back at me. “I had second thoughts about killing him. I almost stopped him from drinking the coffee I'd doctored with my medicine. Then I thought about my brother and his death, and I hardened my heart. But don't think for a minute that I wanted to do that to Blair. When the police came and I realized that Blair hadn't been honest with me about being alone, I couldn't face the disgrace. I thought I'd spare you and Steven the trial and seeing me sent to prison. I'm profoundly sorry for all of it, Jim.”_

_“You were dead on the floor, Dad, and your head was...” I couldn't finish. Dad stepped closer and tentatively put his arms around me. I let my father comfort me and his arms tightened into a hard embrace._

_He whispered to me, “Jim, my son, please forgive me for what I've done to you and Blair. Forgive me for trying to make you deny who you were and are, as a boy and as a man. I love you, and I love Steven. Please tell him that, for me.”_

_I hugged him back, tears wet on my face, and then let him go and stepped back._

_I heard Blair's voice a distance away, talking to my spirit guide._

_“Blair is coming. Do you realize that he's a shaman, Dad? He's an amazing man and I love him with everything I have within me. He's a healer. He helped me to let go of things that were damaging my soul.“_

_My dad smiled. “He helped me, too. I think you're good for each other, and if you want it, you have my blessing. And Jim, you should talk to Blair about having a family.”_

_“I will. He's good with kids. I used to tell people it was because he wasn't much older than a kid himself, kind of implying it in a mental way, but that's not it. He listens to them and respects them and just enjoys them. He's got the knack of managing children. But maybe that's just the teacher in him.”_

_My father smiled. “He has a gift when it comes to teaching. He taught me to accept I hadn't been a bad child. He would be a good father, too.”_

_“I don't know if he wants kids. But when I see him with children, like when he's holding Henri's baby daughter in his arms, it makes me want to see him with our kid. Kids. We could adopt or maybe find a surrogate mother.”_

_Dad put his arm around me. “I regret so much about my life, Jim, but I've never regretted bringing you and Steven into the world. Your mother didn't either. She, well, she slipped away from us for her own reasons, but it was never because of you and your brother.”_

_An epiphany struck me. I wondered if the reason I'd let Blair leave Cascade and hadn't tried to find him was because my father had never tried to locate my mother when she left. It was the Ellison way, apparently._

_I said, “Blair will be here soon. Are you ready to say goodbye and leave this place?”_

_“I have something to say to Blair first. And then, I don't know. What happens if I go away? Where will I be?” I heard the fear again in his voice. I had no answers for him._

_I heard Blair climbing up the hill to us. I felt... a mixture of things. Suddenly, I didn't want my father to go either. I still had so much to talk about with him. He should be back at his house, alive, enjoying Sally's cooking and reading the paper. Going with me to auto shows. Telling stories to my sons or daughters about the mischief I'd gotten into as a boy._

_I'd never have that now. My throat felt thick, my eyes hot and stinging. My father just hugged me tighter._

_Blair climbed up the last few steps to the ledge. He was flanked on either side by the wolf and the jaguar._

_He was wearing the necklace I'd given him twice, the first time as a symbol of how much I appreciated his friendship and the second time to mark becoming my lover for the rest of our lives. I hoped it would be for eternity._

_Dad was hesitant to go into the great unknown. If it was my time to cross over, I knew I would drag my feet unless Blair could go with me._

_The many-pointed silver star necklace gleamed on his chest. It looked really good on him._

_I couldn't say the same for those eye-jarring, headache inducing Bermudas he was wearing. I gave a mental note of thanks that they only existed on the spirit plane._

_My father stiffened and pulled away from our sideways embrace._

_Blair smiled, warm as a sunny day, at my dad and walked without hesitation to him, opening his arms wide. He stopped before crossing into my dad's personal space._

_I waited to see what Dad would do._

_My father stepped forward and accepted the hug, and then closed his own arms around Blair and hugged him until Blair made a squeaky sort of noise._

_Then my dad kissed Blair on the cheek, looking very self-conscious, and stepped back._

_Blair laughed delightedly. “One thing I'll say for the Ellison men. You guys sure can hug. William, I'm so glad to see you again. Are you well?”_

_Blair tilted his head sideways and I knew he was seeing William differently than the way my father had chosen to represent himself this time._

_“Still a little worried about some things, but man, what a long way you've come. I'm so proud of you. I really wish that we had gotten to know each other better before you died.”_

_Blair spoke sincerely, but his words were also a reminder that the clock was ticking for my dad. Blair had said Dad's time for being able to leave was ending very soon._

_“Blair, I'm sorry--”_

_“I know. You've already told me so. And you've squared things with Jim. Now you have to do the hardest part. Forgive yourself, William James Ellison. You've accepted that you've made terrible mistakes, and you understand why you made them. You have asked for our forgiveness and we have given it to you, and Jim acts as Steven's proxy for this matter.”_

_Blair put his hands on my dad's shoulders and drew him down until their foreheads were touching. It was a Chopec gesture, and I supposed my spirit guide had taught it to him._

_“Let it go. Your self-hate and your fear. Let it all flow away from you. Accept yourself, all of yourself, and take that peace with you. The time has come for you to decide your fate.”_

_My father started breathing in time to Blair's breathing. He reached out and rested his arms around Blair's waist._

_I couldn't say how long my dad and Blair stayed that way because I was struggling with my own grief. This was it. The final parting of the ways. Even if Dad remained a ghost, he would mostly be stripped of everything that made him my father._

_Finally, my dad let go of Blair and raised his head. Blair dropped his hands from Dad's shoulders and held his arm out to me. I stepped into the comfort of his embrace and waited for my dad to say what he wanted to do._

_“So, if I stay here I would live here, in this jungle?”_

_Blair said, “No. You won't come here again, William. You will become an earth-bound spirit, doomed to haunt the house where you killed yourself. I hope that at least you won't try to harm anybody who comes there, but I'm not certain. That form of yourself is more... hmmm. Locked in to the trauma of death, I think. I doubt that you will remember any of your time on this spirit plane. You will just be a ghost, and find it difficult, very difficult to communicate. You will relive your death, and show any who summon you how you killed yourself.”_

_“And what happens to me if I choose to leave this jungle? Where do I go? Heaven? Hell? Reincarnation? I was never a religious man and I have no real faith to cling to for support. Tell me, Blair. Jim said you're a shaman. What will happen to me?”_

_“Does the baby leaving the womb know what lies ahead? No. But our children leave their mother's bodies just the same. Did you know that it's the baby who initiates birth? I don't know what lies ahead for you. I don't know what lies ahead for me, or Jim, when it's our time. But it is your time right now, William, and if you do not accept that change then your soul will languish on the earthly plane, stillborn.”_

_I looked at Blair, feeling the truth of his words, and it seemed to me that they had echoed as he spoke, power, true power infusing them._

_My little shaman indeed._

_My father closed his eyes and we waited._

_When he opened them again, I could see he'd made his decision. He squared his shoulders and stood tall._

_“I've been afraid for most of my life. I'll be damned if I let my fears conquer me at the end. I'll go and see what's on the other side of the veil.”_

_“'But that the dread of something after death, the undiscover'd country from whose bourn no traveler returns, puzzles the will,'” Blair said. “We can't go with you, not all the way, but we'll keep you company for as long as we can.”_

_Blair walked over to where the wolf and jaguar had made themselves comfortable by the campfire. He looked first into the wolf's eyes, and then the jaguar's, and they followed him back to William and me._

_“Jim and I can give you some help, if you agree. Our spirit guides will lend you strength until they themselves must return. If they travel too far, Jim and I will die. We're trusting you to let them go at the final turn of the path, all right?”_

_William said, shocked, “How can you trust me like that? Blair, Jim, that's too risky. It's not safe for you.”_

_Blair said, “Life is full of risks, man, and sometimes you have to give trust in order to receive it back. I'm trusting you, William.” He glanced at me, clearly asking if he had overstepped his place, but I just nodded._

_“Blair speaks for me, Dad. Go with my love and my trust.”_

_“And mine. Do you accept this gift?”_

_Wiliam looked searchingly at each of us, and then nodded. The wolf ambled over to where my father was standing and butted him around the knees. He morphed into Blair, naked and beautiful, and melted into William. Then it was my spirit guide's turn, and I saw the image of myself, camouflage getup and Chopec face paint included, follow suit._

_William took a deep breath, and smiled. He looked around, first at the front of the cave, and then towards the back. He said, “The path is this way. I can feel it.”_

_I walked over to him and took one hand, and Blair took the other._

_My dad stepped towards his future and we kept him company as we went further and further into the cave._

_I suppose everyone's path from this life is different. My father's path looked nothing like the trail I had called Blair back from, when he'd died at the fountain. It was rocky, and hard going at places, but at last the cave narrowed down and brilliant light bathed the remaining path upwards. The cave had never totally darkened, there were small openings high above that allowed light and air into the cavern, but this was incandescent._

_William let go of our hands, and we hugged him one last time. He whispered to me to tell Stevie that he loved him. He cast his eyes toward Blair and said, also quietly, “Talk to him soon, son.”_

_Blair kissed Dad on the cheek, and my father touched the spot, smiling._

_“Goodbye,” he said, and he walked away from us. We watched him follow the trail upwards until he came to the opening, high above us. He waved one last time, a small dark silhouette outlined against the beckoning brilliance._

_He turned and climbed out of the cave and disappeared._

_Blair and I waited, holding hands. I suppose I was having a small, niggling doubt that maybe Dad would be unable to let our spirit guides return, and if so, then I was going to die holding tight to Blair._

_Finally I heard the sound of running feet and our guides ran towards us and then mine jumped into me, and Blair's flung himself at my partner, and joined him._

_I knew my dad was gone, and in the end he had passed over peacefully. I took a deep breath and jerked my head back towards the front of the cave where I could smell the campfire, even if I couldn't see it past the bends of the trail._

_We returned to it in silence, but a comfortable one. I sat down and pulled Blair down to sit in front of me, my legs bracketing his body. We stayed that way for a long time, and I took comfort from my lover's presence and I felt he took it from mine._

_“Jim, are you okay?”_

_“I suppose that at times I'll feel sad again, Chief. I'm also thankful that he made the decision he did. And that he released our spirit guides to come back to us. I'm glad that we'll have the chance to keep building a life together.”_

_“William said that you should talk to me. What's that about?”_

_“I thought I was supposed to be the one with the bat ears. But I do have something to ask you. You know, we're kind of dusty from being in this cave and I'd like to go back to our pool and float around. Make love to you again in the water. Morning will come soon enough, and I'll wake up in the loft and you'll get up from the bunk in your truck and start driving again. So let's spend some quality time together while we can.”_

_Blair wiggled free and rose. He extended a strong arm to me and I took it. I stood up and stretched._

_“Chief, I've never heard you quote Shakespeare before.”_

_“Uh, what? Oh, what I said to William. Well, um, not exactly.”_

_I heard a hint of a smile in his voice. “Okay, Sandburg. Explain.”_

_“It's the nerdy geek in me. I was quoting from the Star Trek movie, _The Undiscovered Country_. So I guess it was second-hand Shakespeare?”_

_I started to laugh. I tried to give him a noogie but he was too agile and ducked away. I took a good look at him. Short, strong body. Beautiful curls that a renaissance artist would have adored. Tip-tilted nose, lush lips. My Blair._

_Then I frowned. Those god-awful Bermudas were ruining the picture. They had to go._

_Blair looked down in surprise as he found himself nude once again, but still wearing his necklace._

_Then he rolled his eyes. “Always with you, I've got to be naked here.”_

_“Well, yeah.”_

_He grinned mischievously. I found that my clothing and tribal markings were gone._

_“Hey, we're sharing this joint now. And you know, I can get with the whole 'Having my lover be nude for me' program.”_

_He reached out and ran his hand down my chest. “Mmmmm. Smooth and hard. I 've always loved the way your chest looks. Feels. And tag, you're it.”_

_He tore out of the cave, laughing like a loon. He panted out, “Catch me before I get to the pool and I'll let you ride me. I get there first, and you fuck me.”_

_I chased him, grinning fiercely._

_I knew in my bones that life with my little shaman was never going to be dull._

 

The End of Comes a Time.

**Epilog**

 

“Officer Dave?” Kathleen ran over to me as soon as I walked into the truck stop. “Mama said you'd be coming soon.” 

“Your mama in the kitchen?” Kathleen reminded me of a new foal, all long limbs and quick, sometimes awkward movements. Girl was still a-growin'. I motioned for us to move out of the doorway, and we made our way into the back dining area, past most of the booths and tables. 

“Yessir. She told me to keep an eye out for you. When are your friends gonna be here? Mama wants to meet them, too.” She fidgeted a little. Marie had told me the girl had been wound up ever since I'd phoned them a week ago and asked if they wanted to meet with Blair.

I stopped walking and looked at my watch. Jim had called me about an hour ago, and we'd calculated he and Blair would probably be here in about fifteen or thirty minutes, unless there was to be an accident on I-40. 

“Well now, Miss Kathleen, Jim – he'll be the tall one – and Blair should be along within a half hour.” I stepped over to the wall and motioned for her to join me, so we'd be out of the way of the waitresses.

“Jim's the one like me?” Kathleen worried her lip, and I thought it wouldn't hurt to talk to the child about what to expect. 

“Well, that's what Blair's goin' to talk to you and your mama about.”

“What's Blair look like?”

“Oh, he's not so tall, got a head of brownish-red curls and sometimes he ties his hair back in a ponytail.”

“Like River Wilson does? Is Blair a hippie like River?” 

“I reckon he might be. Blair's a good man, Kathleen. Real smart, too.”

“He's like the one in your grandpa's story, he helps Jim out?”

“I believe they help each other. Tell you what, you go tell your mama I'm here and I'll go grab that back booth. I'll treat you and myself to some of Opal's chocolate pie, and then I'll tell you the story again, just the way my grandpa told it to me.”

She dashed on back to the kitchen and I sat down at the booth, took off my hat, and placed it on the bench next to me. Denise stopped by with coffee and took my order. 

Jim and Blair were doing me a favor by stopping here this afternoon on their run to Knoxville. I hadn't laid eyes on those two since they'd left Sweetwater last year, Blair in protective custody. They'd had a time of it, even made the national news when Jim's dad had killed himself after trying to poison Blair.

We'd kept in touch with occasional phone calls. I knew Jim and Blair had worked things out between them. I'd called them after I learned about little Kathleen's senses being so much more stronger than normal. The girl was doing okay, but her mama wanted to know as much as she could about what was going on with her daughter.

Blair had sent Marie, Kathleen's mama, a mess of information on enhanced senses. Marie didn't quite know what to make of the changes in her daughter. She and Blair had talked a couple of times on the phone, and Blair was goin' to do a few quick tests today, see how Kathleen was doing. 

Kathleen skipped on out of the kitchen and over to the booth. Denise followed right behind her carrying two large pieces of pie and a glass of milk. 

“Mama said we're allowed to use the office when they get here.” She sat herself down and thanked Denise for the pie and milk. I smiled at her, pleased at her good manners, and followed her polite example. 

The pie was warm and sweet and piled high with whipped cream, and Denise laughed at me after I'd taken a bite.

“Dave Findley, I think you're enjoying that pie a sight more than you ought to. You're looking at it like my Johnny looks at me when I've gotten all dolled up.”

“Maybe we're both just a tad hungry, Denise.” I winked at her. “You tell your husband that I said hey, and that's he's a lucky fellow.”

She chuckled and Kathleen and I got down to business. When there weren't nothing but crumbs left, I took a sip of coffee and thought back to how Grandpa had told all of us young'uns about our history.

“Well, this is what my grandpa told me, Kathleen.”

She looked up at me and smiled. “I can tell it's a happy memory for you, Officer Dave.”

“How, Kathleen?” 

She giggled and tapped her nose.

“You're right. It does make me happy to tell this story. Now, hush and listen, as my grandpa used to say.”

She pretended to zip her lips, and put her head in her hands, staring intently at me.

I cleared my throat. “Back years and years ago, before Sweetwater was much of a town, the Cherokee lived in the hills and hollers and the bottom lands. The People were thankful to the earth for lettin' us grow our food, and thankful to the rain for fillin' our creeks and rivers and helpin' the forests and plants to grow. We were thankful for the sun for givin' us light and warmth. And we were thankful for our elders, who gave us their wisdom, and we were thankful for our children, who gave us their laughter.

“And one day, when soldiers came to take the People away from their homes, send them to live faraway in a reservation in Oklahoma, all the Cherokee who lived in these lands were thankful for the Protectors of our people. 

“This is the story my grandfather told me, that his grandfather told him, and that I will tell to you so that one day you can tell your own children and grandchildren of how Agateno-Dikata, Scout Eyes, and Avonvdo, Heart-Soul, kept the People of this place from walkin' the Trail of Tears.”

Kathleen's eyes widened, and I settled into telling her the old story of how a sentinel and guide had saved my ancestor's bacon. Her family's too, most likely. Most everyone who was born and bred in these parts were at least part Cherokee. Maybe, if bein' a sentinel was genetic, Kathleen might even be descended from Agenteno-Dikata. If so, I wondered if there was somebody who would help her like Avonvdo had helped his sentinel. 

Well, best to save those type of questions for Blair. I set my attention back on my storytellin'. “Now, Scout Eyes, he had ears like a bat, and one day he heard a whisper on the wind, too faint for any but a Protector to hear, of soldiers' talkin' to each other. They told of how they would come quiet through the fields and farms, climb the mountains, search out the hollers, and any of the People, young, old, sick or well that they found would be made captive and taken away. It was the will of the white man, they said. Scout Eyes found his good friend Heart-Soul, the one who helped him when his senses felt as wild and as unpredictable as a tornado. Heart-Soul was one who knew the spirit world, and guided the people well, for he was a teacher and had a kind heart. Scout Eyes said, 'Avonvdo, trouble comes to our people,' and Avonvdo said to him, 'This I know, Agenteno-Dikata, for the spirits have sent me a dream. If we join our hearts and hands, there is hope.' He held out his hand, and Scout Eyes took it. Such is the way of Protectors, Kathleen. Always, they will join with each other so that their gifts are balanced, and they can watch over their people.”

Kathleen was too polite to interrupt, but I could see by the look on her face that she had somethin' she wanted to ask.

“There's a question in those big eyes of yours. Go on an' ask it, and then I'll tell you how Avonvdo and Agenteno-Dikata got the Tsalagi, that's the word for Cherokee, away from the soldiers.”

“Are Jim and Blair? Are they Protectors?”

I looked at her direct and serious. “I don't know that they call themselves that, but to my mind? They surely are, Miss Kathleen.”

I went on with the story, but I was also thinkin' about how Jim had used his sharp sense of hearing to save Blair from the hitmen contracted to kill him, and how the bite near Blair's neck had convinced me that he had dealin's with the mysteries. They really were Protectors, and legends still walked among us.

 

* * * 

 

Kathleen came to attention like a huntin' dog scentin' a coon. She slid out of the booth and skedaddled over to the restaurant's door and pushed it open. I followed her outside and she pointed to the far side of the truck stop. A tall man was standing by the cab of a semi and he waved at us.

Kathleen said, excited, “That's Jim, Officer Dave. I'm gonna run and tell Mama.” She darted back inside, and I headed over to where Jim was stretching his arms over his head. A few minutes later, we were shaking hands. Jim looked good, relaxed, smiling easily at me. 

He said, warm and friendly, “Dave Findley, how are you? It's good to see you again.”

“Hello again. I'm fine, thanks for askin'. Kathleen's--”

“Gone to tell her mother that we're here. I heard her.” 

“Think she's like you, Jim?”

He blew out a breath. “I'd rather let Blair make that call. But... I sensed she was here before I spotted her. By the way she hustled into the parking lot, I'm thinking she felt me, and maybe Blair, too. So, there's something, I think.”

“Blair still in the truck?”

“He had to update his log book and call his dispatcher.” He was silent for a moment. “He's done now.

We walked around to the other side of the truck and the driver's door opened. Blair looked down at me from his seat and grinned. “Dave, man, good to see you again.” He looked healthy, although a little tired. He undid his seat belt and disappeared back into the back, pushing a curtain aside. I saw the bunk with its blankets neatly folded across the end. Jim's doing, I'd bet. 

“You're not team driving, are you?” I asked Jim. 

Jim laughed. “No. I'm, well, using up some of my vacation time, and Blair's boss is letting me tag along. Thought I'd better see the King of the Road in action while he was still running the highways.”

Blair reappeared with a large, boxy suitcase in his arms. “Jim's driven a semi before.” He was snickering, a mischievous expression on his face. I was pleased to see him like this; he'd been forlorn and sick as a dog when he'd been the guest of the Sweetwater P.D. before Jim had shown up and taken him back to Cascade. 

“Laugh it up, Chuckles,” Jim said, but he was grinning, too. “Just because I had a little trouble with the clutch...”

Blair handed down the suitcase to Jim and winked at me. “A little trouble? Jim, the engine was practically crying by the time you were done.” He shot another teasing look at Jim. “Luckily, I was doing my loyal sidekick shtick and I was _finally_ able to talk Jim into letting me drive.”

Jim rolled his eyes. “Guess I'll be hearing Blair exaggerating that story for the next fifty years.” I caught the addled look he sent Blair's way. Blair did, too, because he gave Jim back one just as goofy. Lovebirds, the pair of them. 

“Well,” I said, “Y'all let me know when you have a wedding ceremony, if you're making a to-do of it. I wouldn't mind a good excuse to go out to the West Coast and take a look around.”

Blair, still looking at Jim and smiling, said, “As soon as it's legal, you bet we're getting married. But Dave, don't wait on that to happen. You're welcome to come visit us anytime and use our place as a base for traveling around-- ah!” He was stepping down from the truck as he was talking and he stumbled, lost his footing, and started to take a nosedive. Jim swore and jumped towards him, but he was hampered by the bulky luggage in his arms. 

I caught Blair before he hit the ground. He started laughing, and Jim grumbled that Blair should pay better attention to what he was doing. When I set Blair down he grabbed me and hugged me hard. “It's really good to see you, Dave. And you know, it hit me when you caught me like that, that the last time we met you were doing just the opposite of helping me get down from a truck.”

“I was stuffin' you into one, I know. I'm still sorry I had to be rough on you.”

He patted my arm, “I know. But everything turned out okay.”

“Reckon it did, although I was sure sorry to hear about your father, Jim.”

“Thanks, Dave. I know he found peace at the end.”

I must have looked puzzled, because Blair said, “That's a story you might like to hear after we visit with Kathleen and Marie.” I nodded, intrigued, because I knew Jim's father had died a violent death at his own hand. 

“You two have to get to Knoxville tonight?” 

Blair locked up the cab and pocketed the keys. “Nope. We're gonna bunk down in the parking lot here, leave around dawn.”

“Well, there's a little bar with a pool table and a dartboard off this exit. I'm not working tonight, and I got a change of clothes with me. If you're not too tired, we could go and annoy the owner.” I hoped they could come. I liked them both, although I'd had my doubts about Jim initially.

Jim and Blair did that married couple thing where they talked with their eyes to each other. Then Jim said, “That sounds great. There's a little girl inside, though, that's about ready to jump out of her shoes waiting for us, so we'll catch you up on our news there. Besides, I'd like to hear about how law enforcement is dealing with all the meth that's hitting this part of the country.”

Blair started walking towards the restaurant, and Jim and I followed along. Blair said, over his shoulder, “And I want to hear about Maddie, and your family – you tell your brother that I'm still banging around on his old guitar – and find out if Deputy Mike is still as grumpy as ever.”

“He is,” I said. “I'll tell him you asked about him. You know, you ended up one of his favorite prisoners.”

Blair shot me a disbelievin' look, and I chuckled. It was good to meet up with him and Jim again. I was lookin' forward to spendin' more time with them later in the evening.

 

* * *

Kathleen turned a little shy when I introduced her and Marie to Jim and Blair, but Blair soon had her chattering about school and her friends. The girl and her mother and Blair went into a back office, Blair carting that suitcase with him. I looked over at Jim, sitting with me at a back table. We'd decided to take a stab at emptying a pot of coffee. 

“What's Blair got in that suitcase?” 

“Bunch of stuff,” Jim said. “Before I met him, he'd screened a lot of people for enhanced senses. What he's using to test Kathleen won't be as sophisticated as what he used at Rainier University, but he should be able to get a pretty good idea of how strong her senses are.”

“Did he test you a lot?”

“All the time. I got tired of it, but he's a scientist and he needed documentation for his research.”

“He ever goin' to be a scientist again? Or was that bridge burned for good?”

“I don't think he can stop being a scientist even if he's not getting a paycheck for that work. But I'll let him tell you about his plans.”

We fell to talking shop. It was a good hour and a half before Kathleen and Marie stopped at our table. Kathleen took after her mama in her looks; Marie was tall and thin and her dark hair was pulled up in a messy bun. Her husband had died a few years back, killed in a logging accident. Kathleen was the baby of the family, her brothers and sisters already out on their own. Marie hoped that Kathleen would be able to go on to college. The girl had told me once that she wanted to be a doctor. 

Marie said, “Blair's putting away his equipment. He said that we should talk to Jim and he'll join us in a few minutes. My little girl is like you, Detective Ellison. All of her senses are enhanced.” She sounded more worried than thrilled to me, her hands on her daughter's shoulders.

Kathleen twisted around a little to look behind her and up at Marie. “Mama, he already knows that. Blair told him.”

Jim said to Marie. “Kathleen's got you on her side, and she's got Findley here. Blair and me, too. Your daughter has a gift, Marie. But she also has choices.”

He looked at Kathleen almost sternly, and I was reminded of how Sergeant Ames would stare hard at us new recruits, assessing us. She stood very still, eyes wide. Marie's fingers slid down her daughter's biceps and drew her back so that Kathleen was cocooned within her mother's arms.

“Did Blair tell you that among some people, a man or woman with the kind of gift that we have would look out for their people?”

Kathleen nodded. “They were Protectors.” 

“That's right. A Protector, a Sentinel, would warn them if an enemy was coming and tell them things like where to find game for hunting and safe water to drink. But if you don't want the job, you don't have to take it. You can turn off your enhanced senses. I've done it before. I did it the first time when I was about your age. Later, after I'd become a sentinel for the Chopec, a tribe that lives in South America, I turned my senses back off again for a couple of years.”

Marie said, “You did? Kathleen can do that, too?”

“Yes,” Jim said. He turned his attention back to the girl. “Being a sentinel is something you have to agree to do. A very special kind of teacher taught me that. And you don't have to make any decisions right now. I just want you to understand that you do have a choice in this.”

Kathleen said softly, “Will I have somebody like Blair to help me?”

Jim said, slow and thoughtful, pushing his coffee cup away towards the middle of the table. “I think so. I had several people that helped me before I met Blair. One was my football coach. Another was a shaman, a wise man of the tribe I lived with in South America. Blair, though, he's very special to me and we have a different, stronger connection than I had with Bud or Incacha. If you choose to keep your senses turned on, then I think you'll find people that will help you, too.”

Kathleen lifted her chin. “I want to be a Protector. I want to be a doctor. I can hear people's hearts beating without a stethoscope or putting my head on their chest. I heard Mrs. McCoy's heart beating too fast and fluttery and I told Mama about it and she talked Mrs. McCoy into going to see the doctor at the ER. She's better now, isn't she, Mama?”

“Yes, baby. You did good.”

Jim said, “Sometimes people won't believe you, even if you give them proof. Other people -- kids, adults -- they might tell you it's all in your head.”

“I know. But I know the truth, and Mama does, and my brothers and sisters do, too. And Officer Dave, he knows and so do you and Blair. If somebody tells me that I'm crazy, I'll just remember the people who know that I'm not.”

She cocked her head a little to the side, and I noticed that Jim was doing the same thing.

They said at the same time, “Blair's coming,” and then Kathleen said, a delighted look on her face, “Jinx. You owe me a coke.”

“Kathleen! Jim doesn't--”

“Oh, yes he does,” Blair said, coming around a corner. “Rules are rules, man. Jim's all over the whole following the rules thing.”

Jim signaled Denise, and she started walking towards us, order pad in her hand.

“Blair's right. I follow the important rules. I'll buy you a coke and your mama one, too.”

Then Jim semi-whispered to her, “Blair keeps forgetting a really important rule at our house, though.”

“What?” Her eyes were dancing, her lips turned up in amusement.

“Picking up his towels. He leaves them all over the kitchen and the living room.”

She giggled, and Jim and I got up from the table, waving Kathleen and Marie to sit down.

Blair walked up to us and Jim took the heavy suitcase from him. 

Blair tilted his head a little to the left, as he looked at Kathleen. His eyes turned hazy for a moment, then he straightened up. I knew he'd just consulted with the mysteries.

“Kathleen, Marie, it was an honor meeting you both. Kathleen is fine. Just in case she sometimes has trouble balancing her senses, try some of the exercises I sent you. The main thing is to not overdo it on just one sense. You can ground her or she can learn to ground herself by engaging at least two senses when over-extending a sense. But you can call me if anything comes up that stumps you.”

“Thank you,” Marie said. “Both of you.”

Kathleen slid out of her chair and hugged both Jim and Blair. “Thank you, Detective Jim and Blair. I'm going to do what Officer Dave said, and someday I'm gonna tell my kids and grandbabies that I met a sentinel and a guide. Just like Heart-Soul and Scout Eyes.”

Blair was only an inch or so taller than Kathleen. He glanced at Marie and made a reaching gesture towards Kathleen. Marie nodded, and Blair gently took Kathleen by the shoulders and pulled her closer to him. 

He said, looking her in the eyes, “Being Jim's guide is what I want to be, Kathleen. I think it's fine that you want to be a sentinel like Jim, and help people. But I want you to remember that first of all, you're Kathleen, and I know that Jim told you about having a choice about all of this. Being a sentinel is a job for adults. Right now you need to grow up safe and to be happy.”

Blair glanced at Marie. 

“I know you can talk to your mom about problems. That's great. Your mom loves you so much. If for some reason you can't say anything to your mom, do you have other people you can talk to if you're not happy or you feel unsafe?”

Marie said, “Tell him, baby. Like we've talked about before, remember? If you need help who can you go to besides me?”

“My family. Officer Dave. Miss Connie, at school. Johnny and Sissy.”

“That's great.” Blair let her go and pulled a bracelet off his wrist. It was pretty, woven with little beads and bright colors. 

“This is a friendship bracelet that I bought in Peru years ago. I've been waiting to find the right person to give it to, and today, I met her. If you want it, that is. You don't ever have to accept gifts that make you feel uncomfortable.”

But Kathleen had already stuck her arm out, a delighted expression on her face. Then a chagrined look passed over her face and she turned to Marie. “Mama? Can I keep it?”

“Yes, honey. And remember to thank Blair.” Marie mouthed, “Thank you” at Blair. I sure didn't think it was for the little bracelet, though.

Kathleen let Blair slide the bracelet on her wrist and he showed her how to fasten it. 

The girl said, “Thank you, Blair. Every day I'll see it and I'll remember what we talked about.”

“You're welcome,” Blair said gently. “We're gonna go hang out with Dave, so we'll say adios.” 

We all said a round of goodbyes, and Marie told Blair and Jim to drive safe. Kathleen sat back down and showed her mother her bracelet. Denise brought over their cokes; Jim gave Denise a fiver and told her to keep the change. 

Jim laughed as we got into my truck, Blair scramblin' to sit in the back seat. “Kathleen just told her mother that Blair was really cute for an old guy.”

“Ha. Ha,” Blair said. 

Jim said, sending me a look, “All present in this truck who think that Blair Sandburg is cute, raise their hands.”

Jim and I raised our hands, and Blair said, “You guys suck. I hate being called cute,” but he was smiling anyway.

* * * 

We were waitin' for a pool table to open up, having downed one round of beers and argued over basketball teams. I liked Joe's Place, and Jim and Blair seemed to appreciate the steak sandwiches and the beer selection. 

“Hey, Dave?” Blair said, scribbling down something on a napkin. “You're more than welcome to come and visit us, but our phone number and address have changed.”

He slid the napkin over to me and I read it. “Vancouver? Y'all moving to Canada?”

Jim shook his head. “No, Vancouver, USA. It's a small city across the river from Portland, Oregon. Still in Washington, though, so I can keep my benefits. I'll be joining the P.D. there.”

“As a detective?”

“Yes. We, ah, well, we were ready for some changes. Blair got a great job there as a prosecuting attorney investigator.” 

“Really.” I turned towards Blair. “So I guess you're ready to stop drivin'.”

Blair nodded. “I'm gonna keep my license up to date, though. Never know when it'll come in handy.”

“So tell me about this new job of yours.”

Blair's eyes lit up and he talked non-stop for twenty minutes about how his background in anthropology and his years as a police observer made being an investigator a good fit for him. He would even be working with Jim on some cases, most likely.

I was curious and decided to not beat around the bush. “You run into any trouble on account of the lyin' you did to protect Jim?”

Blair took a deep breath. “Yes. It was near thing, them hiring me for the job, but Jim gave them a demonstration of what he could do after I had the hiring committee sign non-disclosure agreements. I explained why I had publicly called myself a fraud and they accepted my reasons. And I had one member really pulling for me.”

Jim took a long swallow of his beer. “He had fantastic references and that balanced out a lot of the negative stuff. My former captain went to bat for him, too.”

“You selling your place in Cascade then, or are you just goin' to rent it out?”

“It's sold. One of the guys in Burglary and Theft bought it. And we've bought a four bedroom house in Vancouver. There's woods on the property and a creek. And an outbuilding that we're gonna turn into a welding and woodworking shop.”

“Four bedrooms?” 

Jim nodded. “We want kids. Blair's mom can put us in touch with several women who are willing to be surrogates, and we're also going to look into adoption.”

I lifted my beer to them. “You two will be good daddies.”

Jim said, “You know, I didn't think I'd be any good at being a father, although I've always thought that Blair would be great at being a dad. He's got a real knack with kids. But being with him, and after working some stuff out, well, I think I can be a decent parent and not totally screw up my kids.”

Blair punched Jim on the arm. “Are you kidding me? You'll be a great dad.” Jim grabbed Blair's hand so he wouldn't punch him again, but I noticed he didn't let go of him. Just kept on holding Blair's hand. Blair said, “Kids trust Jim. I wasn't even surprised when he asked me to consider being a parent with him.”

“Well now,” I said. “New jobs for both of you, selling your loft, buying a new house, and I know Blair's pretty much finished his Ph.D.”

“Just waiting for the longitudinal research to be compiled,” Blair said.

“When do you start the new jobs?”

Jim said, “In late August. Peterson will take possession of the loft August first. But before we settle down in Vancouver, I'm keeping a promise I made to Blair over a year ago.”

Blair beamed. “We are going on vacation. We're gonna go to Mexico and spend time being lazy on the beach and we're also going to do more research on the Temple of the Sentinels. We'll be gone a month, but we'll move our stuff into the new house before we leave. It'll be great.” 

I thought back to how miserable Blair had been when I'd first met him, how angry Jim had acted when he'd come to Sweetwater. They'd been through a lot, but it seemed they'd come out stronger for it. Happiness radiated from them.

“Well,” I said. “Comes a time for changes. My granny was fond of sayin' that to me. Congratulations on yours. What's the Temple of the Sentinels?”

Blair said, “That's a long story. It's-- hey, the table's open now. We'll tell you later.” He pointed to the pool table in the back corner. “Who's going first?”

“You two can play first, and I'll play the winner,” I said. 

“Sweet. You can watch me wipe the floor with Jim.” Blair winked at me.

“Them's fightin' words, Chief,” Jim said with a grin. “Care to make a wager?”

“Sure. How about if I win, you clean the bathroom for my next two turns, and if you win, I'll do the same for you.”

“What if I lose when I play the winner?” I asked.

Grinnin', Jim and Blair each pointed at their own chests, then they pointed at each other, and then both of them turned and pointed at me. Blair started laughin'. It looked like some sort of ritual the two of them had. 

“Dave, ol' buddy. You lose, you buy us a beer,” Blair said.

“What if I win?” 

“What do you want?” Jim asked.

“A beer sounds fine. A good one. And you let Joe over there behind the counter take your picture with me and put it on the wall of shame.”

“You're on. C'mon, Sandburg.” 

Blair scrambled up from his chair and followed Jim, who was taking large strides towards the abandoned pool table. 

Sentinel and guide. Jim and Blair. I was proud to call them my friends.

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And this brings the story to an end. I want to thank T. Verano for being an incredible beta. Her insights and eye for details have been greatly appreciated. Also, since I started writing this in 2007, I want to thank the readers who have patiently waited for each new chapter. You guys rock, and I've loved every comment I've received. 
> 
> Thank you,
> 
> Laurie August 30, 2013

**Author's Note:**

> There is a suicide described in the story in chapter six. It is not off screen.


End file.
